Most women cannot understand.
Scroll through my posts to comprehend.
How one so flawed struts chin to sun,
and owns the world as if she’s won.
M.Dels
an artist portfolio
Most women cannot understand.
Scroll through my posts to comprehend.
How one so flawed struts chin to sun,
and owns the world as if she’s won.
M.Dels
I still feel the coil of your gray hair between my fingers. The oils grandmother used on our scalps drips down the part in your hair. I handle this earth with care for she is delicate. Oh how your brown skin hums melodies we cannot trace but remember; like the recipes we boil in pots.
My hands glide down silk arms light enough to wrap around my neck. Your strength transfers into a new vessel as I pick you up. You smile against my breast and we nest like two lovers reunited. I am familiar with this scene. You were me and we were meeting under the midwife’s reach.
I stare at my baby and pray I can give life to her. Take my life for her. But her might kept me here and her essence fills the morning air. I remember mother’s fingers in the coil of my hair, and I know who life has chosen.