Just now thought of Translucent eyelids, a poem that came to me in the middle of the night in December last year. Entering into a Wholebody Focusing space, the experience came first. Then, I took up the challenge of documenting it in poetic form. This was well before Jenni Cargill-Strong and I had planned our Sunday afternoon 3 May storytelling, music and movement reTreat for women.
Must have had a direct line to Baba Yaga!
Copyright 2014 Lynette Lancini
Claw Mother wakes me at 2:30am
hooting me in
with her prehensile chin.
I scratch, and ground.
Wide of consciousness and west of online
she wants me to strike her breath into sound.
Cognition, a cannula that gets in the way
of Claw Mother scraping her name.
Patterns of language, thinking and speech,
possible manoeuvres laid out like sheets –
the neat folded concepts
the gizzard in the night has
translucent eyelids. Is she alright?
Scraping these shapes of about is not it:
abouting, promenading, these words are like scats
pointing to where she has scratched.