untitled, 2001, 6" x 3" x 1/2 ", ceramic

untitled, 2001, 6" x 3" x 1/2 ", ceramic


I once dated a man who knew how to wrestle.

“What is it that makes you so good?” I asked.

He told me he imagines his energy gets really heavy and almost liquid so it stays as close to the ground as possible.

It really made him kind of scarily immovable.

My 9 pound chihuahua, Olivia seems to use the same technique.

She doesn’t use it to overpower anyone..

She does it when she’s happy.

There is one toy she likes.

It is a dirty and tattered grey thing resembling a rodent of some sort with hair and a head and long, thin body.

Olivia goes after it when she is particularly full of herself.

She finds it.

Grabs it.

Takes it to a warm and toasty place on the carpet.

Her teeth grab the middle if the long belly of the rodent and she shakes her head ferociously back and forth while the grey thing hits her in the face on both sides.

She loves this.

When that part is over, she plops her haunches down and makes them heavy and wide and immovable (in her dreams).

She then starts this thing with her teeth.

The rodent which is now dead, is before her.

She takes little bits of fur in her front teeth and for hours, sits there quietly enjoying the feel of her kill.

This dog is so little and the enjoyment so huge that it almost makes me quake inside to watch it.

It makes me laugh.

But I also know there is that very undomesticated part in myself.

Dealing with a body bent on progressive contraction stirs up the desire to break out and KILL sometimes.

There, I said it..

The nice girl from Michigan with good manners and presentation has that fierce and potent force inside her that has nothing to do with comportment and everything to do with survival.

It’s the life force. The healing force.

Not pretty at all.

But there.. curled and ready should I need it.

I want to say I really love this thing..

But more accurately, I love that I’ve still got it.

I respect it.

Give it it’s place.

Feed it occasionally with attention to it’s presence.

And get dressed to go to the party.

Red, red lipstick it likes.

And the sound of pre-dawn silence.

It is always slightly at the ready, there behind the limping and pill-taking and too-careful acquiescence to a life attuned to frailty.

She’s there.. with her haunches riveted to the spot that smells like LIFE!

Just try to move her…


One Response to “Undomesticated”

  1. Judy on January 6th, 2010

    As long as we have the fire, we are alive. Thanks for the reminder.

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