Del Mundo

A tattered nightgown draped across tiny feet.

A mussy-haired girl, abandoned.

She had holes in her being already.

There was the unmistakable clocking of bones when she moved. A reminder of those she had lost. A ghostly wind chime.

Masked cocoa eyes.

She craved dirt.

In stolen moments she would kneel and grab lumps of rich, moist loam and load them into her mouth. The grit, the richness, the sediment remaining of her buried loved ones was a taste of divinity. In brief moments, it filled her holes.

One bite: she can see her brother opening a coconut for the two to share.

Second bite: she hears her father singing and feels the humidity of the morning on her bed linen

Third bite: her grandmother quietly prays beside her, in the cemetery.

Last bite: she holds her mother’s hand as the two ind down the sandy path shaded with verdantly wild foliage.

For once she was full, for once she was completed, for once the cravings subsided and her soul quieted.

A shuffle, a snap of a far away branch, a distant murmur was enough to get her off her knees.

With a backhanded wipe of the mouth and the final resounding feeling of what peace and death feels like remained until the last pieces of dirt were swallowed.

Then again the wind could cut through her holes.

Then again the clocking bones haunted her movements.

And she wondered when she would eat again while her toes danced in the sweet earth.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s