Women gather at the riverbank
to wash their hands and look at themselves.
They gather wild lilies and herbs
and bare their breasts to the sun.
They gather at the river,
teacher, musician, hunter and grower.
Far from the withering gaze of the preacher,
they bare their breasts to the sun.
The women gather at the riverbank
to wash their underthings and wonder
at the image they present in the mirror of the water.
Ancestors embedded in the river bottom,
like snails in the stone of an aquarium,
are loosened from their shells.
They swell up like desert sponges in a storm.
The houses of their ancestors float by in the reel of the river,
like shells emptied of their pearls.
They gather them up and refill them.
Image compliments of Magpie Tales,
|(Red Roofs, Marc Chagall, 1954)|
Words of my own rendition. Thanks for reading them.