I dreamt there was a girl
-- the most beautiful girl you've ever seen --
who started working as a prostitute in New Orleans.
No one could understand her reasons. I was there.
Sometimes I was the girl. Sometimes I was a concerned observer
and a friend when she needed one. I tried saving her, then I became her.
And my husband was there. Trying to make me stop. He was angry.
It was frightening. And my baby girl was there, trying to understand,
but too little to know.
At the end of the dream, the woman disappeared.
We searched and searched the vice district.
No one knew where she'd gone.
I found a book about her in the attic. Seems she was famous,
and just when I understood, we found her in an art showroom,
her body morphing into different forms.
Different outfits.
She was a living art exhibit,
showing women as seen through the eyes of others.
From her mouth fell a river of verbal excrement,
all knitted in wool. Whore, mother, soldier, saint, sinner.
She was all women, everywhere. She had experienced it all.
Because she had to experience it in order to tell it.
It was beautiful, fascinating, glorifying and horrifying.
Like being a woman.
~ Elodie Pritchartt
May 13,2024
Photo taken from the internet. If this is your photo and you object to it being used, please let me know and I'll remove it.
