the wound, the heart
We stood, separated by space, certainly, in identical conditions of pleasant uncertainty and anticipation, and we both held our hearts in our hands, all pink and palpitating and ready for pleasure and pain, and we were about to throw these hearts in each other’s face like snowballs, or cricket balls (How’s that?) or, more accurately, like great bleeding wounds: ‘Take my wound.”
~ Doris Lessing
on their wedding day my parents released two eels into the river.
the eel, a symbol, their love circle.
(photo: La Pointe courte, Agnès Varda, 1955.)