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The water is still. Which is strange. Our grandmas begin to move their feet. Right foot and left foot, right foot and left foot. Their stomping and their singing lights up in volume and the grasses and the sands and the salts and the muds beneath the feet of our grandmas splashes up onto their calves and the solid ground beneath us tips. No. I think it undulates. So. The land and the grandmas are calling the water back, back to before these grandmas and their grandmas and theirs had children and children and more children and children and children who decided to just take and take and take continually, whatever they wanted, all the time. Us. So. Scream. My body. MY BODY comes from generations AND GENERATIONS and generations OF LOVE. My body COMES ALSO from men who took, who raped, who tried, ABOVE ALL ELSE to conquer. But MY BODY, scream MORE THAN ANYTHING comes from women who unfurl again scream AND AGAIN, heated, un-accepting of scream force and scream FORCED RAGE - who in their own wisdom direct their anger and grief to scream MOVEMENT scream ACTION scream PEACE. Now. We stand behind our grandmas watching the women discuss matters with water. Their feet are still moving, their legs are covered in debris, their voices are still singing. The water is still still which is still strange and we realise in a simultaneous second it is us our grandmas sing for. Of course. Also, us the
ENTER THE WHALE | Emily Johnson
