unchanged miracles and madnesspublished: 2011-02-20
Women. We women. Wise and foolish. Strong and weak.
We take care of our ailing fathers and our boisterous boys, while man has left us. He tells us he feels guilty because he would have and should have but can't.
We are seventeen and excited to meet an artist who makes the things we love to see ourselves doing and so we tell her, speak to her of how we made a coffin and painted it on the inside with colours and scratches and hands and how this was to symbolize all the baby girls who were buried alive in India. The artist smiles and listens and knows she too has buried a child. The one inside her who was once seventeen and wrote an essay about bridal burnings in India. Should the one woman who is wise have become weary and issue a warning? Or should she celebrate the wisdom of youth?
One woman passes on to the next the wonders of this world, the unchanged madness and miracles.