My daughter is gone. Gone. Gone. And I know not where. The priest says hell; her sins weights to pull her to those depths. The medicine man says dreamland; she is now a spirit to guide in times of trouble. So will she guide me? Will she tell me what to do now that my last child is gone, mauled and maimed and desecrated beyond recognition? Will she tell me how to look at her brothers, my non-sons, who cut at her for a defilement of innocence she was blameless for?
I cannot scream. I cannot speak. Life has taken my words, shoved them down my throat. I choke on their thick branches. My dreams are filled with crushing silence. Those who have words look away. They see my stomach church and my mouth open, ready to vomit at their feet all that remains unspoken.
I have her piece, her constant comfort. Splattered with blood, it flew to my breast, a magnet from mother to daughter. I cling. She did not know what it meant
he
gave it to her
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