by Carolina Ebeid
The camera records Ana Mendieta kneeling
beside her earth-body sculpture, concave dug-
out of her self, hollow suspicion of a person.
Using both hands, into the cadaveric cavity,
she places the rock (pulse has a place as
the earliest audible movement any body makes),
then reaches for a bowl that holds cadmium
red pigmented liquid and pours it on the rock-
heart little by little. Mud is never
muted never without a mouth, for
displaced people. She nestles into
the sleeper figure, mouth-to-mouth.
Copyright ©:
Carolina Ebeid
- Share this Poem:
