Cheryl Whitehead
Wellspring Retirement Community
My mind's a gale at sea. Last year I snapped
a shoulder. Year before a stroke upset
my silver slab of tongue. The doctors nailed me
back together and ordered new therapies.
Now, I read Shakespeare with a magnifier
and try to forget which one of my fragile senses
might dim next. Poor fool, King Lear. Most days
the smell of pissed-in diapers burns my eyes.
My hearing wanes and ebbs like nurses' aides
who roll lunch in but forget the silverware.
Next door, a woman screams: "Please, help me! Help me!"
Nothing's wrong except she's ninety-three
and believes she's giving birth. I stroll the halls,
pushing my walker on. In the common room,
white parakeets confide in me. They chirp
I'm trapped! I'm trapped! That's why we're friends.
Should I complain? My life's been long. I've sailed
through cancer storms in my bladder, breast and kidneys.
Sometimes, I think there's not a scourge on earth
can kill me but the waiting. Four years now,
I've courted the crematorium. Why can't
I die like everyone I loved? The sun
bleeds through my blinds. I read aloud as nurses
hand me a paper cup brimming with pills.
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
that heaven's vault should crack. They clap and praise me
then steer the med cart out so the dead may live.
God of the Haw
I pitched him into the river when he bloodied my sister.
The river was a dangerous plaything, & I was the muscle of it,
the tongue of Don't you ever touch my sister again! He toppled
into the swirling brown current & disappeared. That day
the river was my dangerous plaything. I was the muscle of it.
I lifted it over my head & changed its course with one toss.
Into the swirling brown current, the bully disappeared. That day,
his body ran up on the rocks, & a wail rose into the pines.
I lifted the river over my head & changed its course. With one toss
I was God of the Haw. The muddy banks were my arms.
His body ran up on the rocks, & a wail rose into the pines.
The sky was afraid of me & my river-rock fists.
I was God of the Haw. The muddy banks were my arms.
My mouth was flooded with crushed beer cans & bottle caps.
The sky was terrified of me & my river-rock fists.
My surface glittered. The moss on my banks winked like Poseidon.
My mouth was soggy with dead leaves and torn fishing nets.
All day I was spitting junk out. Don't touch my sister!
My surface gleamed. The moss on my banks thickened. Like Poseidon,
I was born a dangerous plaything. God of the immortal Haw.
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| Rounded in deep compassion for the human experience across borders, Mizrachi explores both the spiritual and physical dimensions of being human, and in particular, female. Often times, the female figure in various mythical iterations intersects with earthbound feminine forms as a means to communicate and transmit social consciousness. Mizrachi’s intentions include the empowerment of self and others through artistic expression, as well as advocacy for women, youth, and the environment. Family, community, and tribe are also recurring themes and are approached as active spaces of shared engagement.
In recent years, Mizrachi’s studio practice has developed into a testing ground for explorations in assemblage, sculpture, and installation that has transformed both her painting practice and decades of work as a muralist. Moving beyond paint, her small scale pieces have become sculptural drawings and her murals have become outdoor wall installations. Both styles of work have taken on new life as three dimensional geometric forms.
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