Half Dreaming Louise Bourgeois' Dreams
thin blue mother's milk pours
from the hard kettle morning pools
and sticks to twisted sheets -- Louise is still asleep
in a house ((inside a house )) inside my mind (today modern glass)
Cell # 69
this is meant to be aggressive but wholly feminine like chewing a bottle of aspirin left on the table in the center of the room without swallowing water.
Diary Entry: 07-23-08:
Perhaps the last day of my life, I am so very old.
My legs won't carry me over the dumpster walls anymore. I am thinking about Robert's dead penis entering my body and he comes back to life.
Woman like a white flower devil/angel sacred cunt fecund earth -- Georgia O'Keefe! Where is the photo of us together? Did we ever have one? I only can remember all those sir-really men.
remember unDaughters: Spiral = freedom v. strangle
1. Plant moonflowers in the gray pot on the roof
2. Write a poem about Fear on the blooming petals. I dare you Louise -- be delicate -- show more of yourself.
Confront: I am so old.
C'est la vie!
But please when you find me don't use that bottle of Lysol, I hate the smell! That young artist from Texas left it behind at last Sunday's Salon. How stupid his work and I told him so! But still ... I must be more encouraging next week. ....there is still so much to dream.
Do you remember Louise, when we cut our palms with our brother's pocketknife?
How they slid warm when we pressed our hands together?
Our shiny red hearts pumping inside our swallowlike chests
for boys we hadn't yet met
and how we giggled about the babies our store of eggs would someday make?
And we hunted for nests.
We will won't we Louise --- always be born into such vulnerable architecture.