There is time only to work slowly.
There is no time not to love. ~Deena Metzger.
As long as women sing to the ash and praise the sun
pack their wounds with poetry and prose
sculpt prayers in river clay and smear
a drop of menstrual blood into each painting,
we have time to go slowly.
Time to wash the same dish fifteen times
while brooding on words
like, “iridescence” and “detergent;”
time to still impulsive fingers itching
for ochre, rose madder, cobalt, burnt sienna
and wait for the belly
to incubate vision.
Time for a lifetime
of incremental change‑
allowing the gap
to widen in seconds‑ one,
three, five, twenty-four…
hours to sit around
talking our walk,
breathing, crying; breathing, laughing;
indulging in contemplation; consenting
to silence until silence, welling
from the center, turns to love
and we could sit together, forever.
©2000 Christine Irving