SWWIM sustains and celebrates women poets by connecting creatives across generations and by curating a living archive of contemporary poetry, while solidifying Miami as a nexus for the literary arts.
First there was a woman. There is always a woman, a sum of parts: hair, hand, breast.
Then there was a river, the water over stones immaculate despite the mud banks. Shore-reeds whispered to one another of the woman, nude, wet, and dark as the earth the water caressed.
If she lived today, she’d sing “Unchained Melody,” mouth the perfect o of a skipping stone. If she lived today, she’d hide the planes and ridges of her form in soft green grasses, because her mother always told her to be modest.
Tonight, my husband forms an o lips pursed over pan pipes. He plays earth and wind and water old as creation in each breath, and I remember a story old as creation, a story my mother read me:
Syrinx’s arms frothed with sweat, and legs hot as worked horses pushed her to the water’s edge, where the reeds kept the memory of her songs. Pan, pursuing threw back his head and howled. Her sisters made her delicate limbs hollow and green, easy for the wind to carry, a grounded bird and buried her by the river, where she roots even now.
This is how I first heard of a man taking a woman, cutting her and fashioning her into an instrument to be called upon for music, to sing I’ve hungered for your touch a long lonely time when touched, whether she means it or not.
Chloe Hanson holds a Ph.D. from the University of Tennessee, where she teaches English. Her work has most recently been featured in Cimarron Review, Third Coast, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and The Rumpus.