What would you do if you’re healed?
I want to feel the dirt as I run barefoot home.
I want to see the sea’s crashing waves.
I want to cleanse myself of the stench of this blood browned dress, and go dance and sing inside the temple.
I want to eat a feast, a banquet fit for royalty.
I’d throw a party and invite every
single friend and family member
who disowned me, ignoring me
on the street, and rub it in their
jaw dropped faces.
She’d stop staring silently into the sky.
I bet she’d talk our ears off, telling these and those things about her life, and all the gossip she picked up.
I’d like to see my family.
I’d like to have my own family; a husband and children. I’d cook and clean. I’d never nag, or try not to. I’d be the best wife in the whole village.
I’d know a woman like no one has known her.
Me too. Definitely.
I want to be known.
I’d like to live alone.
I’d like to go live in the mountains and join the men resisting. I’d like to be able to fight.
I’d eat and eat and eat. I’d stop to drink too.
I’d move back to my village, marry my childhood love, and work for my father to provide for my wife and kids. I’d have many many kids; so many kids my wife wouldn’t know what to do with all of them. But I’d be good to her, so good.
I’d move anywhere but back to my village; perhaps by the sea. I could fish for a living. Let the sea and hard ship life wear down my body instead of this illness.
I’d build a home myself, callusing my hands. Find work. Marry. Raise some kids. Celebrate the festivals.
Forget the festivals.
I haven’t been able to celebrate any of the holidays or the Sabbath since I got here.
None of us have.
I’d love being a mother.
I’d travel to far far faraway lands.
I’d help people who haven’t been healed.
I’d just like
to belong again.