The Valley of Ariel Aviva

You taught her all about the green land.

Ariel Aviva’s body was a surface unknown.

The anatomy undiscovered, unnamed.

The inherited stamp: entrancement, bewilderment.


She got sucked into the mould.

Into sexual anonymity, conformity.

She didn’t know anything.

Lacking the knowledge of descriptions.


She thought she was malfunctioning.

Led to believe the other girls had it all under control.

They were all raised the same way.

They shrank beneath the weight of the boys’ arms.


Compliancy, the female devil, well-mannered, lurking everywhere.

Niceties are rarely questioned.

It’s a word used to shelter another one.

A not so social one, amenable, never.


Ariel Aviva’s good girl hands.

She takes you down to her valley.

Thinking she’s stuck, knowing all about the plants, nothing about herself.

The boys are all verbal and loud, eloquent, they were taught something different.


And how could she ever understand?

The value of her own land?

The underground life beneath her skin.

With all this unnecessary silence evading her body?


“Mary Magdalene” by Girolamo Savoldo (1480-1548)

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