Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Beatrice and Me

I think of Beatrice Wood
in Ojai,
making her pots out of clay,
the hot desert sun baking into her,
molding her
like a soufflé.
I went to see her once,
when I lived in L.A.
and I was feeling especially lost.
I brought her a Lindt chocolate bar
and had my picture taken with her on her couch.
I was so alone then
and feeling like I had nowhere to go.
Fifteen years later
nothing has changed.
I am still feeling lost and alone.
I thought when I drove to see her everything would change for me.
I would be touched by her love of life
and walk away with it in me.
I would see her smile and find my own.
I would touch her hand and her wisdom would be mine.
On the cover of her book she is thumbing her nose,
as if to say don’t take life too seriously,
or maybe she’s saying to be full of play,
even at a hundred.
Whatever it is,
I want to be like her.
I want to be alive and free and creative,
not sitting at a restaurant
telling a nine-year-old what they can and can’t eat.
I want to be dipping my hands in clay
and exploring small towns with my camera
and making music on instruments I have yet to learn.
I want to look back at my life,
many years from now,
and know that my trip to Ojai was not in vain.