The
women in Gauguin’s paintings
are
earth-bound
and
how natural they seem,
performing
their daily tasks
with
contentment and detachment.
In
Mexico too
the
women seem at peace with themselves
as
they sit together pounding corn
or
flattening tortillas with plump palms.
One
wonders about their secret selves:
do they make their home life hell
with
the cruelty of their discontent?
Are
their husbands
pounded
and flattened by cunning hands?
These
women seem so barge-like and strong
like
aged wood or leather or an open harbor,
their
walk takes possession of the earth,
and
in their eyes a look of ancient stars,
a
spark of some dimly remembered ritual,
a
time of worship that keeps them proud.
Though
they seem to give no thought to heaven or hell,
they
carry both within their hearts.
No comments:
Post a Comment