The Woman Dreaming, by Joanne Blossom

100% human created Ekphrastic poem

The Woman Dreaming

There is a high wall separating her from him
She considers the cracks in the terracotta barrier
Wonders who the wall will fall on

Who will be the one injured or buried
She dreams she will be the one unhurt.

Her anguish becomes a dream
It is as profound as is his disinterest
Except for his fingernails which he diligently observes.

She recalls her trials her sadness her fears
How they came to slowly transform into confusion
Then into rage then transfigure once more into anguish
Angry women are ugly they said
She dreams she will settle.

There were those little boys running ahead of her
Turning to reach up for her breasts scampering away
Laughing calling her la prostitute-she was ten.

There was a visit from that boy she had dated
Bringing his friends turning the music up too loud
The taking of her arms pushing her down on the tile
Taking one leg then the other a boy on each limb.

He pulled up a chair elbow on knee
Head resting on a fist to observe
She has to be dreaming.

Leaning against the clay wall still she dreams
She will be the one unhurt not buried
She will be the one out at night walking under the veranda
She will be the plaza wanderer
Unafraid unprovoked untangled settled.

The man sitting on the other side of this wall
Decides his fingernails are too long for a man
They need trimming.


Joanne Blossom

Marisa Sayago, Barrera, 1998, terracotta
Marisa Sayago, Barrera, 1998, terracotta