They both died in my arms.  The first and eldest daughter was warning me and I listened to her words, but the second and younger girl I let die silently as I held her against my chest.  It was a strong “ b e w a r e ” against the youngest that kept me separated from the others.  I knew it had to be done at my own hands-but it happened nonetheless and she only rocked in my arms.  So tiny.  The eldest sat lengthwise across my body and whispered to me all of the evils I should stop before the door blew open and all the snow flurries covered us on the wooden slats.  She gasped between each letter and her eyes drooped.  Parents and aunts sat on couches; we only reached their knees and they never said a word until they both died.  Then their eyes turned to me.

            I never looked at their bodies but I caught them winking at me in the corners of the room.  It was bitter to see, but I wasn’t frightened.  Without the eldest to give me wisdom I failed to see the next step.  I took the ceremonial balloons to the Asian cliffs and waited my turn.  One man mourned in the middle of the ocean, balancing on  top of the water without ever sinking.  His grief made him float.  Then a guard came.  To take us all away from the edge.  I slipped by the uniform and tossed the popped balloon over the brown and into the blue.  It sat awhile, then decided to go deep instead of continue like the grieving man.  I cried but my body wouldn’t comply.  It wanted to be stiff and be tossed over, too.  I sat on the dock nearby and wallowed.  There was no balloon for the evil child.  She was something unusual.

            Then friends came and told me not to cry.

 

10 April 2004