SHOWTIME ✨
This is 'Shopping for God'
Hello loved ones,
Tonight, I am going to share the opening poem for Shopping for God, which is called ‘Naked’. I will be performing Shopping for God on Thursday 15th February at Hos Arne in Oslo. Thanks to all of you who have bought tickets, I can’t wait to see you there. If you want to come see this one-night only event you can get tickets here:
https://tikkio.com/tickets/44523-shopping-for-god
The question of human desire is one that intrigues me endlessly and I spend a lot of my creative energy thinking about what it means to yearn and to strive, and what it means to accept one’s lot in life.
I know I am going to adore performing this opening poem, Naked. The themes that come up in this poem: faith, vulnerability, sin, desire, a sense of feeling “unfinished” & a yearning for perfection, recur throughout my performance of Shopping of God.
I hope you enjoy this sneak peak of what is to come on the night itself.
Love ❤️🔥
Eleanor Flowers
This is ‘Naked’:
Could I have put a stop to it if I’d known
That for my own debut I’d arrive
naked
O (😯) original sin! Original nightmare!
Ten days late I waited in the womb
Wondering what to wear for my arrival
Unfinished
as I was I searched the world
Outside
I cast my glance in every corner
Over every dress worn throughout time
By every man and woman ever born
Every garment ever spun by hand
And by machine to cloak defenceless skin
Understood the only way to buy them
Was to leave the sac and
enter in
The first dress that I wore was made of cotton
Bought from Mothercare or handed down
If I could remember how I was
Swaddled in that first garment of love
Maybe then I would not have gone looking
Maybe then it would have been enough
I spent my earliest years deliberating
how to dress myself like Disney cartoons
you need to make the fabric float as though
you are swimming with The Little Mermaid or
Gliding through the air just like Mulan
I could never make the bedsheets fly the
Way a kite is transformed in the sky
I spent my adolescence in the Church
Cloaked within the confines of a cassock
Every Sunday morning I spent singing
Songs so that their God would choose to bless me
Me and twenty other chirruping skunks
Harking heralds bowing to a man
Who wore white and then was drawn in red
I sat and tried to listen to the sermon
My casing made no cushions for my bones
Smacked against the loveless wooden benches
But still I sat and waited for His Word
Instead I got my first bleed on a Sunday
My womanhood a secret offering
Hidden in the folds of pious fashion
When I turned fifteen I gave up waiting
I hung my cassock, surplice on the peg
In the vestry where the woodlice gathered
Presumably with equal hope of finding
Somewhere safe despite their silver armour
I pierced that black and white dress
Popped balloon
Shepherd left to watch the arthropods
Hitched a lift down to the shopping centre
And ever since
I have been
Shopping for