"A woman must face her mirror"
"Grasp it: the world likes waste"
"August arrives, round as a melon"
"Where has Bishop gone?"
"I didn't quite believe in spring this year"
"and fever burns, a breath of fire"
"Lasso a passing pyramid of cheese"
"The woman always suffers for a glance"
"it's when she's gone that I'm at home"
"This tinny jingle of jacks is the jumbled song of me"
"How is it going under there, my dead?"
"I was a tiny / Birch dragon in a bright hoard"
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| Judith Taylor: No one seems to disagree with me when I say there's something compelling about these images. Maybe it's because we're so inundated by the media with narrative that is manipulated and inflated that these honest little private struggles to say something touch us at the core. The eye with which we see them now is not the eye of the young writer, and that distance is interesting, surprising. Maybe the connection between the adolescent girl and the adult woman, or the diary page and the studio wall, is closer than I think. |
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