Welcome to Forestudio

Postpartum recovery

Days and nights in the ship that is our bed

Nursing and crying

Drawing with the living waters that spring forth from us

Breast milk and lochia, tears and mustard-colored poop

On prints made from our daughter’s placenta.

God moved through me like lightning

And I opened up

The angels danced with me

The moon lit a path for me between the worlds

A path to the infinite

Thank you for coming to us

Little winter girl!

~ Here is the ancient ocean

Made of amniotic fluid, breast milk, tears, sweat, and lochia,

Upon which Shuali and I sail in our postpartum bed, returning from a pilgrimage

Filled with pain and intense beauty mixed in one

And in our hands the wondrous treasure

That we brought back from Temple…

Little one.

A duet made from leftovers and plates broken by me in a fit of rage 

The baby is sleeping in the living room

And I am banging angrily on my miserable chest,

The lime green birth ball,

Shoots across the kitchen with all its might

Passing the bathroom

And crashing into the bedroom

I follow it, locking myself in the room, pounding on pillows

Screaming into them

Which just makes my throat hurt

I sit down to meditate but my thoughts quickly get me back up

I even bring this anger to treatment

Just 6 weeks after giving birth -

It’s strange driving in the streets

Strange being without her

And the light is sparkling on the palm trees

Shining so brightly that it hurts

But when the treatment ends, the anger rages on

I’ve reached the edge and every little thing drives me mad:

The sounds of eating

Shuali wanting to be close to me

Spooning me from behind while Yula yanks at my nipple

I’m ravenous from nursing and we didn’t buy enough food

Stacks of dishes and compost are piling up in the sink

The dishwasher and second-hand vacuum have finally died

We didn’t even have a chance to nickname them or get attached

And nothing I cook comes out any good

Everything is burned or has no taste

Just when I need nourishment most…

As long as I am alone, it’s ok

But when Shuali’s home, too,

I topple it all on him

And expect him to save me

Doing it my own way, of course

Whoa, I admit to myself,

I never did learn to deal with my anger

Because it’s an emotion I’ve felt only rarely in life

But now it’s bubbling up

Every single day…

So I make art from the ruins of the malodorous kitchen sink

So that I can understand:

One morning in bed, I simply shouted “no!!!!”, over and over again

I’m sick of this gendered divide

Daddy works and fulfills himself

Mama dedicates herself ‘till she longer exists

I shouted in a loud and uncontrolled voice

Like vomit

And the peel cracked

And what was inside turned outside and overflowed

And the little one just looked at us both in smiling wonder

Once I would have been embarrassed in front of the person watching me explode

But that morning it was beautiful

Something to taste, to roll over and over again in my mouth

So I could keep exploring this flavor so foreign

So unique

Of truth emerging from the depths

And I became filled with gratitude

For this man who is with me,

Who instead of closing himself off, running away or getting mad

Jumped up to gather me into his warm embrace

Straight into the growl of the crescent moon bear

The one from the Japanese legend

Who paves a path of help for the hardened hearts of the wounded

And I immediately softened and cried

And each tear was more precious than diamonds

~ Broken plate, free-range eggs with shells, and cherry-tomatoes from the garden

Camping on a pristine beach

Just Yula and me, for a week

When, suddenly

My first blood in more than a year

I don’t have a pad and I don’t have a mooncup

I didn’t come prepared

Even though my womb had been talking about it for weeks

Wincing and whispering her secrets to me

I might have guessed, perhaps

But I didn’t remember how it felt

And now the full moon shines above us

Like a massive screen projector

I’m covered in sweat, sand, milk, blood, spit-up

And the sticky hands of a curious baby

The salt water is my soap

It feels good, very good

Very alive

I am a mermaid

And the blood flows and flows…

Shit, I didn’t even bring underpants!

But I found two paintbrushes in my bag

Borrowed some sketch paper from the next camp over

And I drew, with the blood and with an egg

In the blue ink, I dipped my wrinkled hands

Swollen from sea water

Wide open

In my moon rest

And I told myself and little Yula

The secrets of the blood

While I got to know them again

As though it were the first time