Kristiana Reed Interviews Kindra M. Austin, Candice Louisa Daquin, Rachel Finch, and Christine E. Ray (aka Brave and Reckless) About The Anthology ‘We Will Not Be Silenced’

I feel so honoured to be part of this wave – a movement created by the passion and courage of four inspiring women.

braveandrecklessblog's avatarBrave & Reckless

In the last few years, the stage on which women and men were always expected to prance and perform has changed. Windows are being installed in the wings. The heavy, velvet curtains are being pulled down and the ropes are being severed. The gauze on the lights is being torn or removed so they shine brighter and the ornamental ceiling has wide cracks in the stucco and tears in the paint. All that has been built around us for centuries – patriarchy, gender stereotypes, heterosexuality being the only sexuality, expectations of femininity, toxic masculinity and silence – is crumbling. It is crumbling because of people like the editors of We Will Not Be Silenced.

This anthology, which showcases powerful poetry, prose, essays and art, is the lived experience of sexual harassment and sexual assault. I was given the wonderful opportunity to interview the women who, in response to current…

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Gifted

Creativity is a jungle –
unharnessed overgrowth
threatens the light –
chaotic madness ensuing

Genius enters the chaos –
culls the extraneous –
captures the message
and with elegance,
delivers.

(Written for Willow Poetry’s challenge:  What Do You See?  Image supplied by Hélène V.)

The Un-Lived Marriage

Children’s laughter echoes
through these halls, and
we light on last log against
the gathering chill –
our hearts aglow
with memories –
some cherished,
some testament
to a love destined to be.

I’ll turn back the bed sheets,
while you check the doors,
and we’ll hold each other
beneath the covers
and talk of tomorrow
until sleep carries us
into enchanted dreams…

Except…I told you ‘no’
that day you asked me
to be yours – too shrouded
by shame to let you in –
and the ‘no’ hung between
us, heavy as brocade,
and though our love –
too bright to dim –
continued,
we remained apart –

and now and again,
you slip into my dreams
and we fall back into that easy
rhythm – as if this was our life
all along.

(My weekly challenge is un-lived lives.  Still time to join in.)

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Desert

Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side,
walk with me in shadows,
let nature be our guide

We’ll stroll amongst the cacti,
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert
help me gather tales

The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert
to heal this heart of mine.

***

By the time you read this, Ric and I will be on the road, headed south.  Texas and Arizona proved to be places of healing for me last year, and I hope that this journey will continue that process.

 

The Fire Dance

Thrum-thrum-thrum –
I awaken with a start –
heart pounding,
intense heat stifling –

flames shooting
ceiling high form
a ring around my bed,
as if dancing –

I am frozen, mute.
Is this death?

Distorted faces
leer through fiery curls –
like ancient tribal masks –
menacing, angry

the distinct sound of voices
penetrates the fire’s roar
and too frightened to respond,
I succumb to unconsciousness.

A hallucination, the doctor deduces –
an adolescent’s overactive imagination…

till, child no more, I gather
with other women,
and a drum –
thrum-thrum-thrum

and darkness pulls me back –
to the centre of the ring –
flames, and faces, and voices

only now, I am no longer afraid –
release my soul to the dance.

(Written for the dVerse pub where Victoria is hosting with the prompt: fire.)

Waiting for Recharge

I alternate between vigorous activity and coma-like crash.  It’s the nature of this disease.  No middle ground, it seems.  Or maybe that’s just the nature of this personality.

We celebrated Christmas early this year.  A Saturday afternoon gathering, and I cooked.  First time in four years.  I felt a certain sense of pride till the last guests left and I turned to face the aftermath.  Now, just  two days later, I am packing up the household and preparing for a four-month excursion.  I think I’ve defined a new breed of crazy:  waiting for a spurt of energy and then frenetically doing until I hit the next wall.

Winter pelts windows,
stirs frenzied need to escape –
waiting for recharge.

(Imelda is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with the prompt: waiting.  Coincidentally, waiting is also the prompt for Manic Monday’s 3 way challenge.  I have also received inspiration from Ragtag Community:  vigorous, and Fandango: coma.  Tomorrow is load up day and then we hit the road, so not sure how often I’ll be around until we get settled somewhere.)

After The Party

99 emails await attention
brain, like legs, plastic –

To do’s flood consciousness,
constrict breathing –

The sun, reacting to yesterday’s
intensity, has stayed away –
a co-conspirator in misery

I wait for illumination –
clear direction on how
to begin, motivation
to follow

Dampness seeps in –
a body-snatcher –
I must move

Emptied wine glasses
linger on countertop –
remnants of celebration

I turn the faucet to hot
immerse glass and flesh,
will progress.

(Written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing prompt: illumination in 73 words.  Also linking up to Fandango’s flood, and Ragtag Community’s plastic.  Image from personal collection.)