Tuesday, August 1
FLOWER IN THE WIND, 1963 The flower in the wind can move only as much as the wind allows it to move. In this way, it is unmoored while moored. Have you ever been escorted by a man into a room? The way his hand pushes the door open, how he gently puts his hand on your back. And because your back is to him, the touch feels both like comfort and a sudden blade. When the coroner cuts me open, light will spill out onto the metal table, then onto the floor. The light will be discolored by the ambition of men. At the very back of a woman’s body is a large shield. We were meant to use it daily, but sometimes the pull of the men was too much. This is why the shield can be passed on. None of us use it the way it was meant to be used. It’s hard to know what men want from us but a chance to strike their sword on a shield made of light. And when the woman finally gives him some light, he can pull the dripping sword out of her back. So many people would die to have what you have, a man said to me yesterday. I told him that the conundrum is there, in the sentence. (Victoria Chang)