"There
was a stone in my son's hand,
And
it left the fingers that once graced my cheek.
It
moved at me with such speed
That
it pierced my heart before it ever ripped my flesh;
My
world spun about me, my intentions became red vapor.
The
hand that I longed to touch,
The
wispy kisses that were like grains of sugar in my dreams,
All
before me, I saw them fall into the void.
"The
crowd soaked with bloodlust,
And
I, so naïve in my gifted innocence...
Did
they ever say they knew Soraya?
Was
my heart such a mystery before God?
And
my lucidity forgotten, the air around me vibrating,
Stale,
tasteless,
Except
for the salt from my own dripping wounds,
And
the light losing color as screams sloshed like waves.
"I
was a wife—I remember my wedding day,
I
remember my anxiousness
To
give myself to my darling,
My
hero, my lover, my accuser, my hater...
And
then there was guile on his tongue,
Smoke
on his singed lips,
And
a black crust around that pitiful waste
That
beat in his chest.
"When
I was a little girl,
My
eyes were bright, the infinity surrounded me,
And
it caressed my soft skin;
It
was butterfly wings on my tender optimism;
The
glow from the morning ebbed with my age,
As
my face matured, and my hands grew strong.
"Now,
the dust has choked my throat,
The
rich dark blood in my hair that was once
My
glorious covering,
And
I, alone in destitution of spirit,
Embraced
in all senses of pain,
Can
find only solace in the hint of a hereafter.
"I
wish for my new world,
A
world where my hero would come,
Where
I am not a harlot for wanting a warrior,
And
my wild feminine heart is pursued;
I
wish for any place with a gentle presence,
Where
I am no longer alone.
"I
wait for my last breath, my last heartbeat;
I
wait for my world to dim,
For
my sons to vanish from my scarred and foggy eyes;
I
wait for the absence of vile humanity.
As
I look at the men, the cowards of my life's kingdom,
I
pray for the lost.
"As
I gasp and choke on the tinny copper of my brain's blood,
I
dreamt that a man was ever born.
I
thought I knew so many, knew vibrant and leathered strength,
But
I was the courted fool, surrounded by empty shells,
Hollow
souls, and dead souls, still lingering in the world,
Bathed
with fear, spiced heavy with lust, depraved, without love.
"If
I am guilty,
It
is of not loving myself,
If
I am a whore,
It
is because I lay passionately with hope for their hearts;
My
sons—my beautiful boys, bent to their father.
I
pray my death will give them tears,
River
guides that bring them home to know,
I
forgive them with my whole being."
(Originally
published in The Auburn Circle, Fall 2013.)
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