When I think of you
sweet Zyg(y…)
and my brief romance
With “Liquid Modernity”
a book filled with words that discuss our fragmentation,
I see two visions:
1) I see fragments of glass
sharp. ready to pierce
through my spaghetti top,
sharp. edges that cannot be glued again
this is pre- post – (modernity).
2) I see a liminal phase
liquid. unable to take shape.
flowing into undefined places
undefined shapes, and then hardening
into flattened visions of
end of things as we know it
the post to our modernity.
Knit, I entwine with lace.
But I think,
Amorsito
that all children are born
Woven From Blood
Woven From Water
each child then,
becomes unraveled
from parents
telling them categories, structures
“You are strong,”
“You are plain,”
“You are girl,”
“You are male.”
Unraveled till point of being a
single strand of a person
holding on tightly to idea(l)s
of family, work, nation.
so tightly so as to become
molten liquid
so tightly so as to fragment.
(each child contains
a woven blanket
but gets himself or herself deconstructed by postmodernity)
I am still woven tightly…
sure, my edges are loose from (psychedelic) traveling
and from romances with Science Fiction
and romances with geopolitical destiny.
but many colors and symbols,
patterns and shapes,
are woven on my body.
my body tapestry.
you see zyg(y),
my child was not unraveled.
or told not to travel, traverse my own identity
no. rather,
my self was woven from my father’s smile.
my self was woven from my mother’s soul.
and I offer myself
as proof
that
some of us
are not fragments; are not liquid.
but instead:
woven in history
and by new information
(spirit)
here to offer up my smile and my soul’s light.
to help others weave our humanity
not liquid that slips between our fingers
weave our humanity
never into a “whole” – I mean, what is that?
But woven. How strong are woven fabrics? I ask you?
