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Color Photographs by Mabelyn Arteaga

More of Mabelyn's photography of Rachel can be
found in the Homepages section at Azodnem.

B/W Photographs by David Solodukho

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All writings © 2002 Rachel Olivares. All rights reserved.

They Do Not

They do not realize
What they hold in their arms
As
Their body comes
Crashing
Down.
That in the very physical
Sense,
We allow for the pain,
For the use of our bodies
To heal.
In the opening of so
Many
Soft, soft legs,
A different hollow occurs.
It is an orifice that leads
Straight to the soul
Of the female,

To the root of softness
And yielding,
And in each yielding
Some type of
Essence
Escapes,
Envelops
And pours
Out.
It may seep
Languidly down a
Tired limb,
But more importantly-
It may run out screaming,
Full of fire and feeling
And so much passion for
The wasted body that
Lies beneath it.

There are so many of
The elements
At war here,
Transgressions we are not
Even aware of,
Yet they manifest themselves
In fits of weeping,
Storms of anger and
Incurable exhaustion.
The union with a man
Pulls at some cord
Of pain
And trace of
disillusionment
Buried deep within layers
Of lust,
Loins,
And languor.

Hidden behind long nights
Of empty howls
And grunts of pleasure.
And even in these,
That essence of woman
And folds of bleeding flesh
That cry for the sorrow
Of curves
And relinquishment,
Is released
Into the skin of
Only the masculine
And in this
There exists
No casual encounters.

As You Stand

As you stand
poised and strong,
Flames licking your belly,
your Thighs-
As your immovable pride
Looks down upon
Water incarnate, soft flesh,
The sea contained in skin
Which will one day
Stretch and give-
Never forget that one
Formed like she whose thighs
Are quivering,
Opened those earthly legs &
Gave someone formed like you
Air and blood and flesh.

That she might have sighed
With
Passion,
Abandon
and with that sigh
Have carried your capacity
For love, down to her cells.
That she must have smiled,
Luxuriously,
Lips sliding over teeth,
Sensing in herself that
Unabashed power to attract,
To create
Ardor and longing.

That her eyes could have
Winked and jumped brightly
To beckon,
Or lower their smooth lids
To spill tears.

That she might have lain
Alone,
On a single bed,
and pondered her past,
her present,
might have dreamed what dreams
fell and crashed
with the coming
of her future.

That she felt rage and pain,
Desolation, sadness,
Exhilaration

That in the end
She was once a girl,
Who stepped out to face
A world of other girls,
But more importantly men
And consequently
Was for one reason or another
Enraptured
Or captured,
Or intrigued by the man who
Finally made this girl
Lay as a woman
and raise
and lower
and open
her earthly legs
As she who lies beneath you
Does now.