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SILKYARD [UNTIL THE TIME OF SPINNING] Valerie Witte |
1, IN THE COILS
[The
* [1.1] Made in sand, ash or mud, we were clay | sheets assembled, a recruitment of parts volcanic: a rupture in the interiors stretched and thinned | repeatedly the invention of skin | As the body brought her edges slow, allowances given | for artillery a cartridge, ribbons, for tires | and she proved ideal for parachutes performed well in surgery | where sutures could join the lips of a wound stitched | Damaged and demanding, through moisture and air |one of the fastenings employed at the junction of two | immovable articulations, the skull itself a seam formed, in sewing | lipids fill spaces for agile, grasping hands | and feet | When she questioned the usefulness of plants, a mesher made apertures, expanding nine times |
* [1.2] Where tactile travelers tread | upon threat of oblivion: the land of our ancestors, where all the bones are | the earliest comprehensive map | we move within our limited range, keeping the young indoors | A skeleton built to falter, organs extensive, burned |and replication is a parchment dried: weathering | for writing | If thickened, subtracted | constantly renewed to molt four times & a shadow mounting | reconstruction, which is critical | she was a collection of wounds trying to heal themselves | a shallow basket, walls interwoven concentric, a fissure near the mouth extruded | A matrix, for support | a lampshade, for baking | Contraction in deformity | harvest a spinneret, subject to a steaming, a stifling yarn |
* [1.3] Before reeling | let us perforate slow, a paddle and invisible milk mixed in the coils | To reduce adhesion in the topmost layer, accounted for smoother removal, pitching | to distinguish faces immersed in boiling water, literally raising the hairs | when grooming was a sun about acid to peel | Bound closely, within confines evolved a streamlined shape | if we could recall the loss of gills | the way a stain fades when pushed | How she could maintain her shape | as a salmon patch or a stork bite might darken in cries | temperature changing our hooves rendered mechanically weaker, never failing | to reduce stress most are pink as flat on the back of the neck a blemish bleeds, as in hysteria the first months of life in certain bodies recording | From the feminine "wrongful, unjust," caused by curiosity, cutting |
* [1.4] When what lies dormant for years suddenly | reappears, though none of these supplanted vision, a preliminary sorting | Sunken | On the surface of iron attested to "redness," stems, etcetera | pilorection, when touching was social were we faster to adapt to the presence of predators, then finding our way out of rooms hairless much harder | than opening is a simple mouth increasing flow to the face | of blood | these walls relaxed to patterns | of pores, beads or shells a set of instructions | Followed | And she waited for the skin to regenerate | if female receptive, stimulating smooth within the chest swollen | an honest, livid signal | If she could lie down at the rust site to heal, naturally, without a scar: laminated |
__ I dreamt I wrote a book called Silkyard—and when I woke up, I decided I had to do just that. I then read a book about silk and another on the anthropology of skin. I interwove what I learned in those texts with my own experiences, in particular the minor physical traumas related to skin and other seemingly superficial physical flaws that, despite their apparent insignificance, ultimately have, over a lifetime, taken an emotional toll. The book is thus very personal while touching on experiences of all humans—what our bodies go through over time as individuals and as a species. |