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To say that she was thinking of small things because it was easier than to think of the large things we had lost was on the tip of my tongue.
“It is beautiful,” I cried, turning to him. “Please forgive me. I am not myself. Or perhaps that is the dilemma. I have let too much of myself out.” I put a hand over my mouth.
“In truth, you are almost always perfectly mannered. It is only fair you are entitled to moments of imperfection.”
“The man is flawed through and through and yet, when I look for fault, I find none.”
“Why would I ever call you ‘beautiful’ when I can call you Edith? Your name is interchangeable to that word’s meaning. In it, the scope of everything I wish to look at in this world is outlined.”
“That is all that I want from you. To love yourself and to let me love you.”
My mother says all women are mothers in different ways, that we all give birth, just not all to children. She says some women give birth to revolutions, to movements, to sanctuary, to art, to brilliance.
your church or your god was cruel to you, I am sorry. Mother Earth and Sister Sea are for you. The pain inflicted and the violence done in the name of the Christian God, throughout history, is immeasurable and if I were to list all of those injustices and crimes here, I would fail.
