She lifted up the back of her shirt slowly. She had forgotten all about it since the day the mirror broke.
She reached as far as she could up her back with her finger and found it. There it was.
Wow, old friend, I haven’t felt you in so long.
The ridges were smaller and tighter now. It almost felt like normal flesh.
It had been forever since the last time she had seen it. The incident left a large jagged-edged scar that covered her back in the shape of a wicked X.
She remembered the daggers. She remembered the feeling of her flesh ripping. She remembered when she escaped. She remembered before she escaped. She remembered the prayers. She remembered the shame.
But somehow she didn’t feel the pain any more. Somehow the weight of the scar had lifted.
There was something about the fact that she survived that liberated her soul. She had long since burst into flames with emotions and fears. It was a different time now. And she had not become ash, she had instead turned into obsidian.
It doesn’t matter any more. I’m free.
In my spirit, I am free.
In my mind, I am free.
I’ve been purified by fire.
I am sovereign. I am sacred.
My ancestors walk beside me.
With one last slow caress over the scar she pulled down her shirt. She sat at the foot of her bed looking out the window to the morning sun. She took in a deep breath and smiled to herself.
She rose quietly from the bed and went straight outside the back door barefoot. She opened her arms wide to greet the sun and planted her feet firmly onto the small patch of grass that sat nestled just in front of the cedar trees that held guard at the entrance to the magical forest, the one that adorned the land she now dwelled upon in her mind.
Latest posts by Iris Rodriguez (see all)
- Announcing: 2018 Dia de los Muertos Online Community Altar - October 30, 2018
- Calling Back Our Womb podcast on the attack of pregnant Central American mothers in detention - July 28, 2018
- Xiuhpohualli: A musical poem - July 3, 2018