Whether we are artists or not, we all have muses, energies which inspire us to create. It seems I have an emerging collection of writing calling itself “The Museum.” The following poem was first to arrive. (If you wish, you may listen to me read it here ) I wrote it in response to the unsigned artwork below, given to me and my husband by a dear, now departed friend, Kent Rizley. I know he purchased it in the Southwest; I am trying to find the artist’s name, and will post it when I have it. Incidentally, I changed the ending of the poem last night thanks to a visitor in my writing cabin. If you wish, listen to me read the poem here:La Mujer Grande
LA MUJER GRANDE
Wallhanging, New Mexico
She is not for the living room.
Her power frightens. Ugly,
but cushiony; a chakra-colored ugly,
gathered from cherished sheep,
dyed in the old earth ways, in the wool.
She is not to be viewed, but to be stroked,
comfort for the daunting work She exacts.
Scarred, open, dreaming, hands clasped,
messy belly bursting with Creation,
pain and pleasure plant her stance.
She is not satisfied with witness.
She demands participation, insists
imagination into three dimensions,
three dimensions into indivisible awareness.
She rides my drum. Before the storm
tonight she called into my crucible
a writhing coil of living Kundalini.