An ekphrastic poem based off a tapestry depiction of Pachamama, the Peruvian Mother Earth
By Meghan Harrison
this is not like paint, once wet and heavy and alive and later caked on and dried this instead is dyed then resurrected
into a maze of colors shadows & bright sun light exploding behind Her head this is a deep inhale of moonshine
and stars Her relaxed eyebrows and soft lips a flare in the nostril Her breath spilling over the clouds
and extending into the dark of night the curves and waves of Her hair signal the corkscrew
turn of never-ending seasons the ocean tide & the wisdom of the hands hands that slip
from our grip crossing bridges to planets and worlds that reside in the steadiness
of the stitch We Her children settle into Her folds We fight every imaginable
shade of mountains and valleys of life the cycles of grief and pain We are
the fish swimming through rivers of a blood – red heritage like fish
scales We reflect & shine We also slit & recoil from the throat
that gives voice to reason We suck & We suck from Her own
breast nourishing ourselves and unraveling Her tapestry
one knot at a time the black soil We believe to be
indefatigable the florescent green We assure
ourselves will never fade the feather in
Her hair blinds us to Her broken
wildness the taming We never
meant to claim as She is
woven & tied so too
are We one to
another
