Migrations

by Charlotte McConaghy

There are two worlds. One is made of water and earth, of rock and minerals. It has a core, a mantle and a crust, and oxygen for breathing. The other is made of fear.

“When I stay,” I whisper, “I think it does harm.” “I think you’re frightened.” It brings a kind of relief to admit it. “I am. I always am.” “That won’t do forever, my love.” I swallow, remembering the feel of the feather in my throat. “No, it won’t.” There is a long silence, but for the fall of water. “My father strangled a man to death,” I tell him softly. “My mother hung herself with a rope about her neck. Edith drowned on the fluid in her lungs. And my body suffocated our daughter. “I dream of choking, and I wake to find myself trying to steal the

air from you. There’s something broken in my family. It’s most broken in me.”

Niall strokes my hair for a long time. Then he says, very clearly, “Your body did not suffocate our daughter. She died, because sometimes babies die before they’re born, and that’s all.” Then, once more, “I’ve missed you.” And I am done with the universe between us. It is so perilous, this love, but he’s right, I will have no cowardice in my life, not anymore, and I will be no small thing, and I will have no small life, and so I find his mouth with mine and we are awake at last, returned...

I come with a leap, a bound into the air, a tugging away of something into the wild and lush and out of control, a place where I don’t run or leave, somewhere I am still.

But I need take nothing from you, Niall, my love. I’d rather give you something. The nature of me. The wilderness inside. They are yours.

We can nurture it, too. My eyes snap open. Fish dart past, glittering in the sun. I’m so cold. What did you say? You showed me. We can nurture it, if we are brave enough. But I’ve nothing left. There’s still the wild. Quiet. And then, Could you wait for me? Just a little longer? Always.

We are not here alone, not yet. They haven’t all gone and so there isn’t time for me to drown. There are things yet to be done.

won’t promise you anything. I’ve given up on promises. I’ll just show you.

Mam used to tell me to look for the clues. “The clues to what?” I asked the first time. “To life. They’re hidden everywhere.”