She screamed "Fire!" as a man plagued by inappropriate inhibition, had his way. He dragged her, pulling out hair and ripping undergarments. Back into the woods, off the running trail. It was worse when she fought, her wits left her, he left her, then she found herself. And all the pain.
Nature understands rape better than man. Crows and ravens watched over her as she laid. Branches tried to grow to cover the vulnerability. Weeds with ambitions of fig leafs, crept. Until to small boys that lost their kite in the tree she was under found her.
She wept at the pregnant knowledge. She picked at scabs, as she filled out the forms to have it eradicated. She had denounced abortion before, but that's what the forms were for.
Darkness, in the inside, scaled the outside. Beliefs, standards, statistics, money, holiness, and all the virtues before and after cleanliness riddled her in her dreams. Black dirt can seem so clean compared to some feelings.
Her name was Fatima Jones. She was a protester and an embracer. She had walked at the White House and had lived in a blue house. She loved the music of Helen Reddy, Aretha Franklin, and Carol King. She wanted to fist fight Oliver North and have sex with Billy Joel. She stood loud, with quiet grace. Her shoes were large, so where here feats.
She went through with the operation. Then changed her mind, and ended her time.
She wound up in a place that has no need of breath. Out of habit she started to weep and hyperventilate at the ugly, scary, madness before her. Fear much worse than the rape of her body, it was the rape of the soul. Just as she was to give way to the madness, two lips touched her cheeks, and gave her a small hand to hold. As the littlest angel led the way through the darkest, she reviewed a story. She spoke of past lives and how she'd been Fatima's Great-grandmother and decided to come back for her. "Yes you might have aborted me on a table, but I can be here for you now".
djh: By no means is this thought to tread on anyone's beliefs, but within the aspect of reincarnation, we all could raise those that have raised us. Even the ones that piss us off could be a future or past love ones. And this was my silly way of saying thanks for something I've yet to put into words. besos elg
�2003 Daniel J Harris