She/Her   | Meanjin (Brisbane) Australia | siena.p.hart@gmail.com


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Thistle Tongue
Gel Transfer, clay, twine, soil, text
Siena Hart
2020

Install view at House Conspiracy - Selected Works





I stood in a vast space that spoke in a language I almost knew
Yellow brittle grasses and soft black earth


Her stomach unfolding, a too-vast blooming
A thread, held between the teeth
Thistle tongue, thistle tongue


I heard the sound of creaking bones, of humming seed tips, of the worms beneath


A crypt
A chrysalis
A cove

Gossamer spit
A swelling of the tongue


A fatal, vital, catalysis
Feeds the ripening seed
That burns the skin where the flowers push forth


A point where annihilation and exaltation collide into softness like falling
Forward, under, through