Math's words

[smokingboot]

Thinking of the one spot of vulnerability your mother left you with - the ankle where she held you as she dipped you in the well, or the mistletoe that seemed too young, too vulnerable itself...
Thinking of that one spot, where in every other way she made you immortal.

This from Math Jones, poet and actor, to be found here (https://www.facebook.com/math.jones) and in many other places.

Whimsy introduced us some time ago, and told me of her wish that we might work together though she was vague on how to do that. I like Math but poetry isn't like music. For me it is a very solitary thing. You create it in private, you read it in private, and even when you share it, others read it in private too. I enjoy communal poetry readings but they can deceive; a great reader can make a bad poem sing, while a great poet who reads flat can ruin their most puissant creations. There's more clarity for me in seeing the words like glass with colours running through it, my connection stronger via blank page or blank screen. That's how I feel it with most intensity. Poetry readings are enjoyable in an entirely different way.

Math performs joyfully and well.

The quote above made me pause this morning. Sometimes it feels like Mum did the opposite, dunked one tiny portion of me in the well and left the rest vulnerable. Of course then the poet asks which part was that, the witch says once I know not to tell anybody, and the clowne suggests it was probably my arse.

Anyway, thank you Math.