We are left only with our minds’ eyes and our eyes’ minds to patiently unravel the conjunctions.
When there are none, why, that can only mean a break in our passage as tribeswomen, as wise healers of the earth when we sow seedlings and harvest kinds of grain and fruits, or dig for tubers. But we are not allowed to pick flowers, only our husbands and sons can do that.
We accept all blossoms, wild orchids, feathery vines for our hair and necks, seaweed to dangle from a bamboo tube before we serve it on the table. We dream even of meals we should array from day to night.
When past meets future in the wonders we see in our sleep, or sometimes even overlaps, our eyes brighten in deep slumber. We do not know it then.
Only the morning sun falling aslant on the bamboo slats where we had receiv
