These Are My Scars

by: Kimberly deLeon

Microsoft Word - scars3.docx

 


Originally published in Script, 2017.
© Author/Artist retains all rights to reprint, publish, license and/or sell their Work.

 

 

Advertisements

Unseen Darkness

Content Warning: violence against women, child abuse

artist: Thiviyaa Sehasothy

Unseen Darkness - Thiviyaa Sehasothy, 2017

Unseen Darkness

12 in. x 12 in.

acrylic on canvas

2017

 

Unseen Darkness - Manivillie Poem
Poetry by Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
Dilani Bala - Portrait Reference
Photography by Dilani Bala

 

From the artist: This collaboration was the result of a complete domino effect that all started with an organization, ‘ANBU‘ (Abuse Never Becomes Us). ANBU does important work focused on childhood sexual abuse. They are abolishing the taboo and stigma associated with abuse and the effect of abuse growing rampant within the Tamil community, as it is in many others.

I am so excited to share this painting and collaboration between artist Thiviyaa Sehasothy, poet Manivillie Kanagasabapathy, and photographer Dilani Bala with you. Click through to read more about the process and cause on Thiviyaa’s website! Links to all three collaborators’ social media can be found below or on the contributor page. Please click through and follow their work. It is both beautiful and important.

 

 


Artist & painter, Thiviyaa Sehasothy is the hand behind ‘Art By Thiviyaa’ in Toronto. Her paintings have bold & heavy brushstrokes, bright colours and are greatly influenced by her experiences, travels and the world around her. She creates painting to not just capture a mere moment, but instead the experience of fluidity, emotions and movement through time. An evolving narrative. See her portfolio on her website, and on Instagram & Facebook.

A Toronto based poet, Manivillie Kanagasabapathy draws inspiration from everyday moments. Finding her way back to poetry, Manivillie completed a poem a day challenge in 2016, where she successfully wrote 366 poems. Check out her poems on her website, Instagram, or follow her on Facebook.

Dilani Bala is a Tamil-Canadian visual artist with a passion to study the human condition through portraiture. Check out her work on TumblrFacebook, and Instagram.


© Author/Artists retain all rights to reprint, publish, license and/or sell their Work.

It’s Wednesday – Poets and Borders

It’s Wednesday! Let’s hear from some new voices today.

borderwall
Photograph from asu.edu. Image description: a wood fence wall is in the desert, a hill with a house on top is in the background and the outline of a city can barely be seen above the fence in the distance.

Poetry International has posted a lovely conversation between poets spanning the globe discussing the topic of borders. Click through to read it all, but here is a glimpse, from Alfonso Garcia Cortez:

The word “border” refers to the numerous separations or boundaries which reality presents: economic, religious, cultural, legal borders; but it’s also true that the body itself is a border. Language is a border. Reality is a border. Imagination is a border..

To live on the border is to carry all of that on one’s back, sometimes without being aware of it.

There is the constant presence of the “other” in the landscape: the “bordo,” the helicopters of the “migra,” the traffic inching up to the “línea,” the bilingual billboards and signs, as well as migrants and immigrants, the repatriated and the expats, the foreigners and tourists, and the family members who live on the other side, “al otro lado.”

I believe that we constantly cross borders.

Expressing ourselves is a form of crossing the body’s border.

Leaving one’s home is in itself a border crossing towards the uncertainty of the city.

We exit from ourselves, from what we associate as ours, towards a different place.

Thus, the border is then revealed as something that is not rigid at all, not as simple as a wall.

Rather, it’s flexible and porous, an exchange of glances, a game of mirrors.

How Grief Sometimes Loses Course

by: Hilary Brown

It intersects at incongruous places, now crosscutting
humor, which has always been what you supposed
a parallel. It brakes and slows and finds itself
ridiculous. There you are, crying on the toilet,
and grief is there, pushing your hair back
out of your eyes, asking you whether your lost one
would like that new holographic lip gloss
or how it feels not to be able to send her the picture
you took of a kestrel, the unexpected soft red
of his breast. Ever sarcastic, ever tender, ever
speaking in your own voice. Your new companion,
marriage indissoluble and only mundane, a partner
to watch during breakfast over a spoonful
of softening cornflakes.

 


Hilary Brown is a writer and activist living in Oakland, California. Her writing explores themes of body deemed dangerous–queer, disabled, female–and the embodiment of god in nature and humanity. She seeks to celebrate what is too rarely celebrated: the necessity of decay, the simplicity of pain and healing, the slow process of becoming.


© Author/Artist retains all rights to reprint, publish, license and/or sell their Work.

 

 

November, Oakland

by: Hilary Brown

Trauma lodges
in the gut, throat, jaw, teeth
grinding themselves, eat
experience until it’s gone.
Spit it out.

It takes up residence,
digs the foundation in ground
that slips. Landslide and landslide
and landslide. It clings
to that bluff.

Plants itself. Invasive.
Killing other life. Fungus
and spores climbing trees
with rot. Dark mold
that finds its way
in greater darkness.

Pretty birds of grief
eating the essential stuff.
No other animal
can live.

Russian thistle
blocking the roads
in that picturesque way
it has. Still there’s no
getting through it.
Just sitting surrounded,
hungry, staring at the sky,
falling in love with all this
loss.

 


Hilary Brown is a writer and activist living in Oakland, California. Her writing explores themes of body deemed dangerous–queer, disabled, female–and the embodiment of god in nature and humanity. She seeks to celebrate what is too rarely celebrated: the necessity of decay, the simplicity of pain and healing, the slow process of becoming.


© Author/Artist retains all rights to reprint, publish, license and/or sell their Work.