Wednesday, January 19, 2011

This is not a bedtime story,
this is where who we are.

Somewhere on the other side of the globe
a girl-woman tried to give birth to a stranger-husband's force but
her pelvis was too small
too new
so baby died and
she was unconscious by the time they carried her to the hospital but

by then
her pelvic tissues had been depleted of oxygen from
baby's head
pressing against them for so long so long
she birthed her downfall
and she couldn't walk without shame
(she couldn't walk at all)

and her parents and husband loved her
but
but, but, but...
they couldn't stand the smell, the air around her was full of that smell from her shame
and
her husband left her and
her parents had to move her
to a hut on the edge of their villiage, and
the others removed the door
(so the hyenas would be able to devour her body and what was left of her soul)

but
she fought wildly, sitting
up and only her
and a sharp stick
only her
screamed, used her voice which nobody heard
to chase back darkness
then
in morning light
she dragged herself
far far far far far far far far away
to the door of a man who still believed there was a God
(so close, so close so dead)

and he saw her
and through seeing her revived
her eyes and she was almost (not even close to) whole
in hushed whispers, clean rags, someone else's old bed
still torn
still dirty
still torn through
with the others

all the others
and she wanted to die
the light to go out
so tired
so tired
but no no no no no no no must be must see
must do
so she stayed
she stayed through hard through dark through not enough and
thoughts
and they fought back (all for her all for her) the night with the
sharp stick
which pierced all the way into the sky
light through, into her all of her
made new
all new


And here are we
we are here
we are
what
why
?

1 comment:

Kate said...

shiver me timbers!