Shapeshifter

Like a cat,
She grows talons
Sharp enough to tear
Human flesh.
Her body elongates,
Sleek black fur,
The gold of her eyes
Gleams in the darkness
As she bounds away
Rider and Ridden.

Medea, Another Version

Medea,
Priestess of Athena,
Violated in Her temple precincts
In the name of Poseidon
By invaders whose God of the Sea
Usurped Aphrodite's realm.

Medea,
Driven mad
By visions of
Writhing snakes
Forcing apart her lips.

Medea,
Granted revenge by the Goddess.
A crown of sacred serpents
The gift of turning to stone
Any man who comes too near.

Medea,
Honored by Athena
Who wears her frightening visage
Upon Her breastplate.

Medea,
Her gaping mouth
Every rape victim's
Unheard
Scream.

Desire: The Acrostic Poem

Demented
Emissary
Setting
Irresistible
Reactions
E-Motion



1/11/04

Raw

Dressed in a navy blue suit,
she sits at the counter,
eating ikura sushi.
In her mouth,
the primal dance
of life and death.
Orange fish eggs pop
on her tongue
like so many orgasms.

Hearthless

We have no hearths, only television sets
and gourmet kitchens that no one cooks in.
Our fireplaces are but for show;
Our central heating has no center.
The sacred mystery of fire, unseen,
how soon forgotten,
As we sit in houses warmed by atoms split
and watch electrons dance.

A Mother's Fears

Demeter,
Did you try to rein in Persephone,
prevent her from growing up,
keep her by your side for too long?
Was she abducted or did she run away?
Why were you so afraid?
Was Hades a motorcycle-riding,
black-leather-jacket-wearing,
impudent young god?
Did he sweet-talk your daughter,
sweep her off her feet?
Did he promise to take her to the stars,
but instead delivered Hell on earth?
And those pomegranate seeds,
Were they fruit or blood or children?
She would have stayed for her children's sake.

Sappho Preparing to Worship

She sits at her vanity table,
Dressing her unruly black tresses
with olive oil and ivory combs.
Her body petite, almost frail,
Her belly soft with birth giving and age.
She darkens her lids with kohl,
Making her black eyes smolder.
Dabbing imported scent on
earlobes, wrists, the hollow of her throat,
the space between her breasts,
She thinks not of the Goddess
but of her lover's mouth.
Smoothing her fine white chiton,
she pulls her dark cloak on and
goes out into the night,
A priestess of Aphrodite's errand.

Published in SageWoman, No. 58, Summer 2002

Artistic Courage on Bali

Yesterday, I was walking along the main road, in the town of Ubud, on the island of Bali, in Indonesia, when I stumbled on Bali Tirta Art Gallery. What drew me in was a colorful painting of a child sleeping on a bed of newspapers in front of a pile of boxes. As I slowly walked around the one-room gallery, I noticed a dozen or so paintings of the traditional landscape/beautiful women/ market scene genres. But what captured my attention were the large, brightly-colored acrylic paintings which, like the one of the sleeping boy, explored the underside of paradise. Tightly-cropped like a photo, with simple compositions and minimal but telling detail, these paintings were completely different from anything else I saw on the island.

A woman’s hands outstretched to receive a single 100,000 Indonesian rupiah note (worth about $11) from a man towering above her. A young boy with a cell phone looks down at the image on the screen of a man and woman having sexual intercourse. Two men standing next to each other, one of whom is picking the other’s pocket. A young child intently looking at a magazine, on the back cover of which a woman is posing suggestively. A girl sprawled on the ground, her eyes closed, face and arms lacerated, a teddy bear and torn bag nearby.

Mesmerized, I took a couple of photos to jog my memory, and called the number on the shop sign. A young woman offered to meet me the next morning at the gallery. When I arrived, she was already there with her husband and small son. The paintings were the work of her 21-year-old brother, Tirtayasa, who is still a student at the art institute in the island’s capital, Denpassar. The brother-in-law mentioned that the gallery would only be open for a few more months as the rent was so high.

The piece I was most drawn to was called “Girl with Pepsi,” which subtly comments on the changes global capitalism has had on the traditional way of life. A woman in Balinese dress holds a flower-filled offering basket made of coconut fronds and a Pepsi bottle, which is labeled with the words “holy water” in Balinese.

As a lover of beauty, I appreciate the talents of those who create traditional scenes of life on the Island of the Gods for visitors to take home. But it takes not only talent, but also courage and vision for an artist to depict those aspects of life which are less than idyllic and far from picturesque, especially when there is little or no financial incentive, and perhaps substantial financial risk, in doing so. And yet, this is what we expect of artists: an individual interpretation, an authentic expression of the larger truths that affect us all.

I hope that Tirtayasa and other artists like him receive the support they need to continue.