here, at the Lake,
the water in such varying depths and rhythms
reveals known secrets
awakens old souls
in this Pandora’s box
this cabinet of women’s wonders
She is recuperating here
recovering
from oblivion
uncertainty
illness, disease
from guilt and shame
so willingly taken on by women
so seldom questioned by those who love them
She needs no veil here
her spirit
taking form
in exquisite brush strokes
of paint
in layers
of textured paper
of beads
and stones
and wood
and photographs
and the fingerprints of the artist’s
loving, intricate labor
the infinite grain of memory,
numinous strata
recollected,
re-imagined in this brilliant cabinet
stories shared, retold
as confidences between soul mates
who trust each other
as much as they trust stories
who tell each other stories
they can’t begin to understand
until they tell them
to each other
such a gift
once story opens up
reveals its infinite treasures,
astounding permutations,
we see
the truth of story —
it’s been here all this time
it waits
and calls to us
come inside...
so
a mother is reborn, a daughter awakened
a life is revived, a writer renewed.
the process begins
again
anew.
November, 2009
