so what happens is amaranta becomes our fourth for brunch & i end up calling her ama in my head because if she’s going to eat with us she needs a nickname & she has to be our friend. one woman is the imp- during our meals she leans over to tables where men eat alone & asks them questions with laughter in her flashing eyes. the other woman is the teacher- she pulls her glasses out of a polkadot case to analyze the truth of whatever is in front of her. i’m the guru because i’m always calm, even while cussing folks out.
we meet for brunch in harlem at miss mary’s, a spot owned by a butter-pecan woman in her seventies who floats around in a sundress & straw hat asking folks- how y’all doing? we’re teachers & writers & here to discuss ama & this is serious business but then we get down on some juicy collards & honey whiskey in mason jars & start talking men & babies & why our mamas are so ornery these days until the teacher says- enough!
the imp is a traveler- she has a magic bag with stones from mexico, sacred herbs from the caribbean & printed scarves from india that shimmy in the light & it’s only right that she has the picture of ama that we hold up to the window. it’s our first 90 degree day in new york city & everyone is flourishing their quarantine limbs in the sun, & even in the cafe it’s humid as a southern afternoon.
the teacher pulls her glasses from the polkadot case. her & the imp put their heads together like two accountants & analyze ama’s offerings- the woman separated from herself in a sea of clouds, the man attached to her crown, the ropes that bind her, the river of blood. i’m flowing in my own river of blood & i wanna lay down in the shade & be in the stream of blood & tears & prayer from women all over the world who make a life in the wilderness for ourselves & our babies & sometimes men too. i dream of our collective rest.
the teacher tells us the artist who created ama is seventy and from chile. we are nourished by wisewoman elders- fulla greens & honey whiskey from miss mary, deep in the river of blood & dreams from ama, storytelling about our mamas & realizing we are them at the same time. & knowing that at seventy we could be painting in chile, or rocking a sundress in new york city, or collecting stones in mexico, or any of the thousand paths that lay open & shining before us.
This piece is from our Winter 2021-2022 in-residency series, The Amaranta Project.
