To mark the passing of this remarkable woman, reposting.

Serpent Box

“What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.” ― Walt Whitman

The face does not speak of its pain or its sorrows, it tells no story, it attempts to recreate no other reality; it is its own book cover, designed by no one, to enthrall or to hook in; there is no title and no blurb but the author stands before me looking back with the features with which I’ve become so familiar – eyes, nose, mouth – seeming so much like me yet strange too, familiar but unfamiliar enough to arouse an ineffable wonder, the primitive man who sees his face reflected back at him in a still pond for the very first time, unconsciously bringing his hand to his cheek to test its uncanny presence before him. Are you me?

I say to…

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