June 27, 2009

Hands full of your new bones

You are either the small miracle or the next footprint on the road. You might be the dark spots around the edges of your mama's favorite photograph. Is it possible to be miraculously dark?

How long can you stay seaweed-and-bone, living off the pattern of your skin? You are always running, wind braided into your hair.

You could be the girl who thanks God every night for letting her live another day -- the one who is grateful for every breath she takes. Have you stayed up until three a.m. splashing torrents of red hurt onto paper, mad scientist mixing paint and waiting for a color -- not chemical -- reaction?

You are the fragile handful of bones she carried so many years ago. She called it a blessing of July. You are the spirit under the stars, the well swimming with water, the love burning in a rush of air.

5 comments:

odessa said...

beautiful, Maya. "the love burning in a rush of air" -- what a phrase.

cuileann said...

Magic, Maya. It's so full of love and knowledge of this girl, but still mysteries and questions. It's just how it is when you are that close to someone. I love this, it's a magical portrait of the teller and the subject.

Erin said...

I am miraculously dark.
(so the answer is, yes.)

lovely post.

angela hardison said...

that was lovely.

maya ganesan said...

thank you all! so much support for a piece that just exploded out of my mind -- wow. i'm so lucky to have brilliant visitors like you guys.