A lyrical essay inspired by different characters from ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ by Lorraine Hansberry and in response to the film ‘to render the infinte’ by zakkiyyah najeebah dumas o’neal.
Tattoos, Louise Bourgeois, and memories of a lover are examined in this essay about the struggle to communicate feelings in a relationship.
I read books about mothers because I want to understand motherhood. I read books about mothers because I’m trying to answer this question for myself: Do I want to be a mother?
“I lay in bed and imagine him reading the line, ‘I want a man to love me so much he murders me. I want to die because I’m loved too much for him to tolerate my existence.'”
“Who’s there?” Narcissus stops trepidatiously and slowly turns around to stare into the thick underbrush. Nothing moves among the stand of ferns and foxglove. The mountain nymph Echo hides behind a pine tree, pushing her back against the dimpled bark. Her heart thumps deafeningly in her ear and her arms tremble noticeably, but she softly repeats Narcissus’s question back to him: Who’s there? Narcissus’s eyes narrow and he listens intently for several minutes before deciding he only heard the ghost of his own voice, and continues his hike through the forest. Echo sighs and slumps away from the tree, peering slowly around the trunk. She waits until Narcissus is several yards ahead before following after him, trailing him like an elongated, late-afternoon shadow, and occasionally darting behind a tree or rock again whenever he suddenly pivots around—unnerved by his acute hunter’s instincts—and calls out again, “Who’s there?” Who’s there? They continue on in this way for several miles until suddenly, overcome by her urge to smell his ripe body odor, admire his doe-like eyelashes, stroke …