womanness as                      


1Anonymous artist, untitled panel traditionally called Love Magic, c. 1470. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig.

2Dechant, D. Lyle. “Fascinated by Fascination: Female Privacy and the Leipzig ‘Love Magic’ panel.” Visions of Enchantment: Occultism, Magic and Visual Culture. Edited by Daniel Zamani and Judith Noble. Fulgur Press, 2019.
A friend says to me: I know you’re on a solitary journey—

Threeway FaceTime. LA hillside, LA lakeside, Greece. Two babies between them. Plenty of work between me. I’m still in my kimono, second round of coffee.

I know you’re on a solitary journey. Meaning, I know you’re on a secret journey. A journey I can’t see, magic I can’t understand.

Winter night sky, leaves in my hair. Naked under my nightgown and beckoning at the windows. My feet slip from my shoes as he grabs my hand. Later, I fall asleep like a spell and wake before the dawn. Liebeszauber. Love Magic.1

“Privacy of any stripe had always been viewed in the Middle Ages as ‘an unnatural condition to be remedied,’ the province of outlawry, depravity and magic. To desire privacy was to cultivate secrets.”2

Long hair, blood drips, empty beds, dark skies, the written word, the spoken word, birdsong, my song, plants sprouting new roots, new growth, my body in prayer, in motion, in meditation, in devotion, in depravity, in desire, breath, blues, technology, dirt, his gasp of pleasure, the light through my camera—

All of it, strange magic.