the muse mother speaks

I was the one who whispered in Astrid’s ear that Pippi should have braids, and odd socks, and wear her lost father’s big black shoes. It was me who placed a cool, invisible hand on Bergman’s forehead, facing his eyes in the direction of shadows and light on a white wall, which led him to pick up a heavy film camera and capture the play of the shadows. I also held the hand of Zorn, guiding his hand so that when the paint kissed the canvas he could illustrate the perfect, sensual swell of a woman’s stomach.


Hiding in the birch trees, I’d wait. Those types of trees don’t provide much shade, but someone invisible like me doesn’t need protection from the light or the sun or from lynx or a lone, hungry and thin wolf. I’d wait for someone who looked not only at the ground but at the way that leaves changed from dark green to light when saturated by sunlight. When the right one walked by, I would follow, trailing their steps and looking where they looked. After a day or two of waking up next to them, watching them put on their clothes and make cups of coffee or tea or water, I would start guiding them a little. It starts with whispers, and sometimes escalates to shouts. I am the voice in their head that says Use dark blue here, not black.

(C) Charlotta Westergren

"... all my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures."

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