First there was writing.
"Tell your own story,"
Adrienne Rich said.
So I wrote.
Then there was publish.
"To publish is to make public," the dicitonary said.
I began to read my work fearlessly.
"You should take a silk dyeing class," a friend suggested.
"Then you can cover your poems with silk and your art will be come performative."
I signed up.
Two weeks after enrolling,
my son had a paralyzing accident.
"You should quit school," I said to myself.
Myself answered, "No. We will both learn to adapt."
I became obsessed. Everything became an opporturnity to make art.
As I waited in the intensive care waiting room,
I covered muy journal with sequins.
I learned Shibori silk dyeing.
Shibori is manipulating fabric, placig dye upon it and surrendering.
I surrendered.
When I visited the capel at the hospital,
I wrote in my journal.
It became a prayer book,
covered with silk.
