Monday, June 14, 2010



When she was a little girl,
she washed all her father's shoelaces
& hung them on the clothes line to dry.
But a night bird came down
& mistook them for worms…
How would she explain their loss?
Would he lose his job
for a profound lack of shoelaces?


(If I was from a traditional American mom & pop family, maybe I could explain this dream, but I was raised in the wilds of west Marin by my Corkonian Irish grandmother. So the obvious father shoehorn doesn't fit.

It did feel a bit like I was channeling, though. Somehow the oil slick is tied into it‚ shoes are sexual imagery, right? Laces-ties, what ties us, holds onto us? Child, innocence.

Bird—flight, night, subconscious...not water (emotions/s unconscious), but washing—and the nightbird is a heron. Like a crane. Crane bag, magic bag, writing. Worms, food/decay.

I was reading Gallego mythology—or trying to as it's in Gallego-Portuguese. I was obsessed with the parallels of women washers at the ford, prevalent in all Celtic archetypes. Limnal boundaries.)

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