Ruby

by Cynthia Bond

The audacious hope of rooted things. The innocent anticipation of the shooting stalks, the quivering stillness of the watching trees.

Ephram had always thought of a woman’s hair as living testimony to her life, her memories.

Remember, baby, don’t never let a man mine you for your riches. Don’t let him take a pickax to that treasure in your soul. Remember, they can’t get it until you give it to them. They might lie and try to trick you out of it, baby, and they’ll try. They might lay a hand on you, or worse, they might break your spirit, but the only way they can get it is to convince you it’s not yours to start with. To convince you there’s nothing there but a lump of coal.

“I’m not meant for using! I never was! Never was! I ain’t never never going to be used again!”