Ghazal for Becoming Your Own Country
By Angel Nafis
After Rachel Eliza Griffiths’s “Self Stones Country” photographs
Know what the almost-gone dandelion knows. Piece by piece
The body prayers home. Its whole head a veil, a wind-blown bride.
When all the mothers gone, frame the portraits. Wood spoon over
Boiling pot, test the milk on your own wrist. You soil, sand, and mud grown bride.
If you miss your stop. Or lose love. If even the medicine hurts too.
Even when your side-eye, your face stank, still, your heart moans bride.
Fuck the fog back off the mirror. Trust the road in your name. Ride
Your moon hide through the pitch black. Gotsta be your own bride.
Burn the honey. Write the letters. What address could hold you?
Nectar arms, nectar hands. Old tire sound against the gravel. Baritone bride.
Goodest grief is an orchard you know. But you have not been killed
Once. Angel, put that on everything. Self. Country. Stone. Bride.
"Goodest grief is an orchard you know. But you have not been killed. Once."
This is such a fabulous piece of writing. And you look so lithe and uplifted under your white veil. Thanks for sending me to bed with such a beautiful image in my head.
This is utterly magical
The image mirrors the words so well.
I like the way the sheer both blurs and highlights your curves. It is somehow ethereal.
Fabulous image. So much unseen as well as seen. Fantastic balance.
I like the freedom and abandon your pose expresses
You look so beautiful
this is an image one would like to frame!
Such a beautifully sensual image. Love it !!!
Xxx - K
The sunshine is almost as glorious as that beautiful arch in your back!
This is stunning. I feel warm sunshine and a gentle breeze, the whole image feels so freeing.
This is stunning Xx <3
Your photographs are always so elegant! This one is just magical. Amazing!
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