Yesterday I got careless with an Exacto knife and sliced the tip off two fingers. While I recuperate, my typing suffers mightily.
I shared some poems with a friend the day before, and I realize today I can actually publish these here. So here is a poem I wrote several years ago.
I wrote it to accompany a piece of mail art I sent to Lark Books for inclusion in CREATIVE COLLAGE FOR CRAFTERS by Katherine Duncan Aimone (2000). You can see the book at Amazon by clicking the title to this blog, and I’ll upload an image of the mail art piece later this weekend.
The “faux press release” is based on an actual archaeological discovery of a real burial site. I believe the actual remains were those of a young cripled female. The significance of the flowers is not known. Were they placed to decorate the site? Were they herbs, placed to help preserve the body? Or to "heal" her in the afterlife? Had the child loved flowers? To think of such loving, human hands at work over 50,000 years ago, simply boggles my mind.
At the time I wrote this poem, I was making wall hangings with my imagined handmade versions of ancient sewing awls and buttons.
(AP) Archeologists in France today announced the discovery
of a Neanderthal burial site. The skeletal remains of an elderly female
were interred with great care. There were various indications of
continued care of a non-productive member of the tribe. The remains
of dried flowers were buried with her......
Burial Song
She is gone.
She is gone,
and prepares the way for us...
We, left on the shores,
We, left grieving here.
Here are flowers, that she may have joy with her,
always.
Here are shells, that she may remember the Great Waters,
always.
Here are bones, that she may count the days of the Blessed.
Here are her tools,
her sewing awls, sinew, beads,
that she may make beautiful things,
and have beauty around her,
always.
We will remember her,
We, left on these shores,
We, left grieving here….
Always.
---Luann Udell
