They found her on the battlefield. She looked as though she’d traveled from some far off land. They’d get these types every now and then. Lost Souls is what they called them. But one took a second glance at her right wrist. It did not have the cut that many have. Instead there was a tattoo there. Something that looked like a funny bird with no body, no beak, no eyes. Just plenty of feathers. It bled down into the word LOVE. Many who landed here had tattoos and other bodily marks. It is how the locals learned over time how to read. When they lifted her lids to peer into her soul, a big strike of lightening pierced through their sky. All at once, they knew. She was indeed one of them. The kind who understood, all too well that eyes are windows to the soul; that your eyes will watch God. That the eyes must learn to mix fire with air else the earth and its need for water (and vice versa) will surely be ones demise. The kind who could will her own death by just being too damn still. Still waters are wicked deadly. She was the hardest to revive. The kind with too much on her plate. So she ate nothing. Gave everything. Fed everyone. There is a risk of too much too fast. She’d eaten the risk instead of the food. Then punished herself for not being able to digest it. She’d survived the void. Then punished herself for how she survived.
What funny beings we are. Perhaps the greatest injustice isn’t how we chose to survive. But that we were never taught how to safely be inside of a goodbye.
What were they to do with her? They tried walking through every fairytale known to man. Each ended atop a sleepy pedestal. The grandmothers watched on with a sly grin and shake of head. Until they could watch no more. Finally, they stepped in. Both took turns rocking. Rocking. Rocking. Back and forth – places no other could dare take them to. Finally she opened her eyes. Finally she moved her write hand, though it was sore and bruised and purple. And they returned her. Anew. Yet remembered. To her baby’s garden.
MAHism2025: prose, poetry, peculiarities... 