Archive of Performance, 2007-Present > SUNS: If Birds Could Write, 2015

"Blood"


I have witnessed the sad, spreading circle underneath pets.

I’ve known the panic of blood that spurted out and onto the walls.

I have sensed the thin, slickness of the blood as you entered.

I see the slow blood of cancerous eyes.

I’ve received the product of liquid anger.

I have tasted the blood of:

sewing
cutting
falling
nicking
slicing
pricking
skinning
killing

cow, lamb, goat, deer, horse, shark, chicken, pig, turkey, eel, rabbit, frog

soft lavender blood of a sea snail
sour, yellow blood of the caterpillar
dirty blood of the beet
blood of the laundry
blood of the sky
blood of cheeks
The blood of pleading
The blood on the hawks’ feet
The blood inside the hymnal
The blood I’ve saved on little bits of paper
The beaten blood of the dead horse


The West laughs at the blood from behind and in front of big, fat squares.

The South keeps it at their mother’s house.

The North initiates their hatchets with it.

The East says the blood is a river of fear, washed by the gates of vitality, opening into our ears, needling into the hairs of our heads.

Blood is the dwelling place for the crow in the fairy tale and the holy books,
and crow “will stretch over it the line of desolation
and the plumb line of emptiness.” (Isaiah 34:11)

-Published by Dancing Girl Press