Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Refugee Mother and Child, a poem by Chinua Achebe

Mother and Child (Stacy Wills, 2014)
alcohol ink on yupo + sacred altering

Refugee Mother and Child

No Madonna and Child could touch
that picture of a mother's tenderness
for a son she soon will have to forget.

The air was heavy with odors 
of diarrhea of unwashed children 
with washed-out ribs and  dried up 
bottoms struggling in labored 
steps behind blown empty bellies.

Most mothers there had long ceased
to care but not this one; she held
a ghost smile between her teeth
and in her eyes the ghost of a mother's
pride as she combed the rust-colored
hair left on his skull and then -
singing in her eyes - began carefully
to part it... In another life 
this would have been a little daily 
act of no consequence before his
 breakfast and school; now she 
did it like putting flowers
on a tiny grave.

-Chinua Achebe (1930 - 2013)

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Creation Song

Womb of Creation (Stacy Wills, 2014)
alcohol inks on yupo + sacred altering

Creation Song

What did
 you know 
of me
before you 
formed me
 in the womb?

What dreams
 did you dream
 for me?

What plans
 did you make
 for me?

What song
 were you singing
while knitting
 my bones?

-Stacy Wills (12/17/10)

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Dove that ventured outside…a poem by Rilke

The Dove that Ventured Outside (Stacy Wills, 2014)
alcohol ink on yupo  4" x 6"

Dove that ventured outside, 
flying far from the dovecote:
housed and protected again,
one with the day, the night,
knows what serenity is,
for she has felt her wings
pass through all distance and fear
in the course of her wanderings.

The doves that remained at home,
never exposed to loss,
innocent and secure, 
cannot know tenderness;
only the won-back heart 
can ever be satisfied:  free,
through all it has given up,
to rejoice in its mastery.

Being arches itself
over the vast abyss.
Ah the ball that we dared,
that we hurled into infinite space,
doesn't it fill our hands
differently with its return:
heavier by the weight 
of where it has been.

-Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 - 1926)