I was in Wolverhampton last weekend and I visited the Art Gallery. It was excellent. If you get the chance to look at the art you won't be disapionted. It houses the largest collection of Pop Art outside of London, and the Ed Isaacs exhibition was worth the journey in itself. I had an idea for a poem while I walked about the streets, though I do not know where it came from. An anchoress was a woman who was confined within a cell in a church in medieval times. Once consecrated they remained in their cell until death. it was not unusual for them to dig their own grave and be interned within the church.
the anchoress dreams
sap green spring leaf
her time again would be
like a dandelion seed
to sail over all man made enclosures
but the bell’s toll wakes her
in the half light
on the floor of the cell
the trench that is her grave
looks like black velvet amid the grey
the sun will take its time
to rise above the barred window
she gets on her knees to pray
on the cold stone
to a god she has never really known
I am not sure the final stanza works. I spent most of my time attempting to imagine what it must feel like to be confined to one room for the rest of your life, never to feel the sun's rays or the rain on your skin. I still can't quite get my head around it.
Here's Gretchen Parlato & Lionel Loueke. Their album Lean In is superb.
Until next time.
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