The cloying scent of Magnolias
lay like pall over her hands and hair.
With deadened eyes and slack mouth, she sat as if
cast in stone. A sculpture
perhaps that would have been titled “Woman in Mourning.”
She appeared not to see the gleaming Mahogany casket set before her on
steel casters
tastefully hidden by velvet. She dare not move for
fear that the slightest tremor would give a hint to those who watched,
of her exultance, her complete and utter joy.
The bastard was dead! Willing herself
to inner silence with only her heartbeat
counting down the time till this farce was over; she
withdrew into that
secret dark place she’d found within when he’d hit
her the first time.
The pregnant moon had watched it all. The slow
moving mallet of his fist
as it had swung through the air, inevitable and terrible
in its purpose. The
alien tortured cries that had bubbled through streaming
blood and broken
lips. It had seen the withdrawal; the eclipsing
of self beneath the hammers his hands had become. With arms wrapped around
her aching belly she had curled in upon herself, unconsciously protecting
her head as she rolled into the smallest target possible. She hadn’t
paused to wonder what had happened or why. She had simply pulled
within. The spectral combination of intellect and soul ran hand in
hand through the throbbing paths in her mind until they had reached the
secret place. A place so hidden its presence had not even been guessed
at until that night. Having lived and survived in the comforting darkness
she could still feel itcalling to her, even in this her finest hour.
The terrible celebratory light was losing its allure. She didn’t
want the recesses probed by bold glaring beams that would show the shallow
blind creature that dwelled there. Preparing herself to return to that
place that had become her home, she allowed hers elf to listen to the whispered
murmurs and broken sentences that swung softly through the air before sinking
into the soft batting behind her eyes.
Briefly the sweet soprano of one
who had grown within her womb called,
tempting her with salvation. But that road was
too long, too rough and
far too bright. With regret mingled with relief
she shut the auditory down.
It was time to go back.
Before allowing herself to once again
embrace the darkness she imprinted
theimage of his gray sallow face propped on white
satin pillows, knowing that
at least her silence was by choice and not yet eternal.