What I’m trying to say is that yesterday I listened to planes and birds and all the flying things, it’d been so long since I stopped to hear what happens in the sky, and how the light falls around them to come down to touch us. (The Madwoman stands in a fountain, wet night, holds her own severed head. Let’s talk, let’s talk.) Everything is soft here: blankets, her inner thigh, time, leftovers in the fridge. House plants hang around clay pots, share stories about what it was like, before, belonging to the belly of the earth. (Nobody is listening. An officer stands by. Forehead to stone, lips to stone, make them listen.) This morning I wiped away trails of sugar ants, imagined their grief, imagined their queen glowing like the plastic jesus statue at the end of my highschool hallway. Something so fragile to revolve around. Do they ever step out of line like we did, rolling up our skirts after last bell? Do they laugh behind her back, whisper during worship? (Beyond, in the metro, women dance while commuters move past, tied to their greater causes, ants for crumbs, mad for blood, seeds to leaves.)
Photography Credit: Jason Rice
Lena Weber is a queer collage artist and poet, born and raised in the US and currently based in Mexico City. Lena draws from dreams, memories and lived experience to tell truths and lies related to gender, sexuality, territory, intergenerational trauma and relationships, using primarily poetry, painting and collage as mediums of choice. She often plays with grotesque, fantastical and abstract imagery in order to push herself and her viewers out of their comfort zone and into the dream world; a space where deeper truths and self-reconciliation can emerge. Her work has been exhibited and featured in publications in Europe and Mexico.
