Winter Miller

motherWinter Miller is a playwright. Her play, In Darfur has been developed by The Guthrie Theater, The Public Theater, Geva Theater, and The Playwrights Center. The play was the recipient of the Guthrie’s “Two-Headed Challenge” in 2006. Ms. Miller traveled with New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof to the Sudan border to interview genocide survivors.

Ms. Miller’s plays include: The Penetration Play (produced by 13P), published by Playscripts Inc., excerpted in Smith & Kraus’ Best Stage Scenes 2005 and Best Monologues 2005; Conspicuous (produced by Keen Company’s Keen Teens); Something’s Wrong with Amandine (Theatreworks developmental workshop); and Cake and Ice Cream (readings at The New Group, Rattlestick, the DR2 and New Georges.)

Her monologue, Mother to Son is published in Eve Ensler’s anthology A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant and A Prayer. The monologue is presently touring cities across the United States with the photo exhibit, Darfur/Darfur and the documentary “The Devil Came on Horseback.”

Ms. Miller has written for The New York Times. A graduate of Smith, she holds an MFA from Columbia and is a member of the Obie-winning 13Playwrights and an affiliated artist with New Georges.

wintercontinental[at]gmail.com

Recent press about "In Darfur"

In Darfur In The Park, The Public Theater

A Conversation with Brian Steidle and Winter Miller, playwright,The Public Theater (PDF)

The Guthrie Goes Political, The Wake

Public Theater Will Stage Winter Miller's In Darfur in April, Playbill News

Public to Present 'In Darfur;' Farrow Set for Talkback, broadwayworld.com

Public to Present Free In Darfur Reading at the Delacorte, broadwayworld.com

American Activism for Darfur Hits New York Stage, Voice of America

Times writers dramatize Darfur revelations, Minnesota Public Radio

 


 

girl

Mother to Son is a monologue by Winter Miller included in the anthology edited by Eve Ensler and Mollie Doyle, A Memory, a Monologue, a Rant, and a Prayer. This monologue is authorized by the author to be used for free by anyone wishing to perform it for a Darfur-related event.

In Darfur, Sudan, more than 400,000 black Africans have been murdered as the government of Sudan arms the Arab Janjaweed or “devils on horseback,” to enforce genocide. More than two million Darfuris are displaced in refugee camps.


MOTHER TO SON:
One day, I know already to expect it, you will lay your curly head in my lap and ask, “Why am I not named for my father?” And I will wrap you in beautiful lies. Yes, I will tell you my husband was everything to me, the night sky specked with the most dazzling stars. I will tell you he was the desert, dusty and immense. I will tell you his love scorched and burned like the sun. I will tell you an army of men on horseback kicked my husband to the ground and shot him seven times. The first was in the leg, so he could not run. The second was in his groin so he could not spread his seed. The third was in his heart so he could not love. The fourth was in his heart so he could not breathe. The fifth was in his heart to hear him cry for mercy. The sixth was in his heart to silence him. The seventh was in the middle of his forehead, for good measure.

But listen my son, for these are words I have never spoken and I will never speak them again so long as I live.

Your father, all six of him, dragged me through the dust, my head bobbing over stones. When my dress tore, just as I would, he gripped my hair, pulling me like a fallen goat. Your father, all six of him, threw me face down in the dirt. As I choked sand, your father, all six of him, cut my clothes off with a knife. One by one, all six of him entered me.

I did not make a sound.

Your father, all six of him, called me “African slave” as he spattered his seed in me. Your father, all six of him, said “this land belongs to Arabs now, this cattle belongs us,” and slashed my right thigh with his blade. (So I would remember him), your father, all six of him said.

Alone at last, in a pool of my own blood, I looked up at the wide sky above and prayed to die. When I awoke the village pyre had dwindled to embers.

Your relatives are nameless corpses shoved in wells. My home is a pile of black ash and a stray teapot. There is no one and nothing to go back to, there is only going forward. I will not speak to you of the past. I will teach you not to ask


Learn more about Darfur and take action:

www.miafarrow.org
www.genocideintervention.net
www.enoughproject.org
www.savedarfur.org
www.darfurdarfur.org
www.thedevilcameonhorseback.com/


 

THE PENETRATION PLAY

By Winter Miller ran at The Mint Space in November and December, 2004.

 

Press about "The Penetration Play"

Sexual Tension Along the Jersey Shore, The New York Times (for PDF)

 


 

© Winter Miller 2007