Pantoum #141
The Wound and the Well
Young meets old on the page
A who’s who of perspective
A dialogue between then and now
Young meets old on the page
A common ground seen through a different lens
A dialogue between then and now
Bifocals for near and far
A common ground seen through a different lens
A who’s who of perspective
Bifocals for near and far
The Wound and the Well
Pantoum #142
You have the right to remain silent
What if I’ve been quiet too long?
This body has things to say
From weeping wound to whispering well
What if I’ve been quiet too long?
The pen is a microphone, the page a stage
From weeping wound to whispering well
A private podcast between part
The pen is a microphone, the page a stage
This body has things to say
A private podcast between part
You have the right to remain silent
This week in Writing from the Well, we became our own cartographers.
We drew the map of ourselves — not the surface, but the secret topographies. We sketched our bodies, labeling them with wounds, strengths, and quiet truths that rarely get voice. We wrote expressively into what remains hidden, the soft and sore parts we don’t usually name. Then we ripped those pages apart.
From the wreckage, we kept three scraps: one for the “Secret”, one for the “Wound”, and one for the “Well” — that deep place of inner knowing. We glued them onto our body maps where they most belonged. Then we wrote into each one and began a dialogue.
Mine was a conversation between the Wound and the Well.
We also chose an object within arm’s reach — something mundane that could become a metaphor. Sitting in front of me was my open glasses case.
The case was empty. Or so I thought.
Here’s what fell onto the page…
Wound: No one listens. I'm weeping.
Well: Come here, little one. Sit with me a while.
Wound: It's hurt for so long I don't even know where it hurts the most.
Well: Here, let me see. Pass me my glasses. Oh, where did I put my glasses case?
Wound: Here's the case, but it's empty like me.
Well (chuckling): Oh dear, I'm getting forgetful. Look at this, Wound. They're right here on my face. I've got them on! Now, come. Let me look at you closely.
I see you're weeping.
Wound: It's silent and sore and deep inside. Heidi goes on dancing and laughing above and forgets I'm underfoot. I'm always underfoot. I'm always underneath her.
Well: That's so hard. Do you want to know something? You may feel like Heidi doesn't listen to you because she's standing high above. I've felt that too because I'm even deeper than you. In fact, sometimes I feel like you're standing and dancing on me and never noticing me. I get kind of lonely too, Wound.
Wound: What helps you, Well? Do you need someone to listen to you?
Well: I sure do, Wound. And that's what you're doing right now.
Wound: You seem so strong to me, Well. You're talking your truth.
Well: Now that's exactly what I think about you, Wound.
Well: Here, I have a gift for you, tender Wound. You can have that empty glasses case.When you need to open it, know that I see you. Even when no one else seems to.
Even when you're hurting in the dark. My glasses are always on. Even when you feel unseen, you're never invisible to me.
Invitation:
Today, speak with a part of yourself you usually avoid.
Draw, write, or listen — but don’t turn away.
Your wound has something to say. Let your Well listen.
See you soon for #143,
P.S. If you want to browse through some of my writings visit The Pantoumery. What’s a pantoum, you say? I’m writing one each day, for a year. Learn how HERE
Also, The Well platform (prompts, classes and meeting links) is now available as mobile app!