"I can't swallow my pain", my friend B.T. once said. "But I can't spit it out either."
B.T. has the most glorious red tresses I've ever seen. Currently, they are turning grey.
B.T. has freckles, too. She is a sibling to eight. Among all of them, she is the only one with red hair. Her mother didn't allow her to wear it long. Maybe she was scared of having a daughter with so much untamedness on her head.
B.T. has suffered a lot throughout her life, and when she suffers, she suffers stupendously.
She also laughs stupendously.
B.T. is a great woman.
A great witch as well.
"So what are you doing with the pain in your mouth?", I asked my witchy red-curled friend.
"I'm sucking it", B.T. answered. "Insalivating it. I'm circling it with my tongue, diluting it."
"And then?", I asked.
"Then I swallow it bravely", B.T. said. "It's high potency medicine."
"Ah", I thought, "maybe that's what happens to pain that has been carried long enough in the private cave of one's mouth. Like in Ellen Bass' poem."
Basket of figs
Bring me your pain, love. Spread
it out like fine rugs, silk sashes,
warm eggs, cinnamon
and cloves in burlap sacks. Show me
the detail, the intricate embroidery
on the collar, tiny shell buttons,
the hem stitched the way you were taught,
pricking just a thread, almost invisible.
Unclasp it like jewels, the gold
still hot from your body. Empty
your basket of figs. Spill your wine.
That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it,
cradling it on my tongue like the slick
seed of pomegranate. I would lift it
tenderly, as a great animal might
carry a small one in the private
cave of the mouth.
~ Ellen Bass
Hard nuggets of pain might be alchemised to medicine by one's own saliva. Eventually, they might even be alchemised to gold, if someone else witnesses them with the eyes of love and carries them like a great, tender animal.
B.T. ist not only a witch but also a writer.
Another indication that she is familiar with alchemy.
Photo by Prashant Saini on Unsplash
