She who hangs.

Eleanora was the kind of woman that got what she wanted, though it was never synchronized with her primal desires. She was always without, despite the heaps of with that filled her homes.

She married well.
Again and again.
Until she reached her eighth husband and decided she’d only take dirty lovers found in the slums.

She ate like a bird and attacked like a croc.
She fucked like a fox and digested like a snake.

She managed to escape children, knowing she would devour her young.
Her uterus a twisted and cruel thing, surely to be used as a weapon if removed from her thin frame.

She lived in a developed part of the desert,
but soon would be amongst the swamps.

The house. Pt. 2

You’ve heard that it takes a village to raise a baby.

The world my mother created out in that country followed that principle. Not just for the children of those running, but all those that called that place home. 

Surely, we are never done being raised. And, all need a home.

Over the years the faces would change. Those who got what they needed would eventually leave. Sometimes coming back for visits, sometimes staying for a while again. Younger ones would show up, saying so and so had told them to come. Like some midnight refugees fleeing war zones. 

Mama in her foreign wraps at night would always respond the same way.

Her strong hands would hold their cheeks (which more often than not were flushed and wet from panicked tears) and her thumbs would rub softly under their eyes. “It’s going to be alright, child. You are safe now.”

I was generally hiding behind her skirt and she would ask me to find whomever a room. To grab the fresh sheets and towels. Show them around, make sure to show them how to jiggle the knob on the shower.

So I would. Quickly I’d run up the first flight of stairs to the hall closet that was stacked with linens and quilts. I’d grab the right ones for the right beds and head to the first available room. Quickly make the bed, and head to the bathroom closet to gather towels and wash cloths. When things were ready I’d run to the person and grab their hand and show them the way. -I always loved that part because it made me feel like a grown up, having many tasks.

It’s a longer walk than you might realize, though not due to length. The women (and few men) that found our place were all hiding from something. All a bit fragile, sure to break in the wrong winds. I’d hear the sniffling following me, but I’d never look. I didn’t want to shame them anymore than what they were already experiencing.

Soon we’d make it to their room and I’d show them around. Dressers, closets, towels. More blankets down the hall in the closet if you get chilly. You’ll smell breakfast every morning, please come down. Meet everyone. Say goodbye to me the days before I go to school because otherwise I’ll worry. The puppy howls when I leave, but don’t get scared, he just loves me is all. The windows are open, but you can close them. It takes all your weight though, this house is old. I don’t know how old, but I’m sure it’s a grandpa, it makes noises in the night. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it and miss it when it’s not there. And if you need anything, I don’t mind, my room is at the end of the hall. Mama’s is downstairs. She’s always awake at night. She’ll make you tea if you ask. Or give you wine. Tomorrow is Sunday, it’s a big day. Cuz and I go fishing, that’s our church. You can come if you want, we tell stories to the fishes. And breakfast is the biggest you’ve ever dreamed. Don’t be scared Miss. You’re safe now. We’re going to love you, okay? -And I hug them, and go back down to report that they are safe and fine to Mama. 

It never really took more than a day for people to get used to it out there, but the nights were always sad. In the spring and summers when the windows were always open, you could hear their demons escaping. Sometimes they’d want company, but mostly they needed their own solitude.

I suppose that’s why I always escaped to the roofs and tree tops at night. I was young and didn’t realize the full weight of a life of decisions. I’d climb up high to be closer to the skies and dream of taking it all away for them. As if the higher you get, the more likely you’d be heard.

Sometimes I’d sleep on the roof on the nights that needed more saving. I felt like if I left before it was over something terrible would happen. It was an imaginary guilt I just couldn’t face.

On those nights Mama would find me. Scoop me up in my half sleep and tuck me into bed. She’d softly sing and tell me what a wonderful heart I had, trying to heal the hurting. Some nights, on the nights she didn’t want to go back down to her bed, she’d snuggle up close to me and we’d dream together. Sometimes I could hear her cry, though she never made a sound. It was in the way the sheets stayed so still from trying to control breath that I knew. And, as I said, I’d never look. I’d put my hand in her long hair and fall asleep with her wrapped around me.

I always loved those nights, though she was aching so badly.

Mama’s work kept her traveling. Most of the time she’d take me with her, but there were certain places that were unsafe for children. I’d stay at home and fantasize about what she was seeing. She’d always make me hold her hands before she left and she’d say, “Remember what this feels like Sassy, because when you feel it again it’ll be when I’m thinking about you. Picture what you see. Remember for me so when I get home we can see if we were in the same place the whole time.”

It was hard while she was gone. Everyone missed her and the house became a little bit more quiet. Everyone still did what they do. She left lists of the gardens that needed to be tended to. The fruits and vegetable that needed to be picked. The daily chores and money for the shopping.

In all of those years, never once was anything stolen. I suppose people knew if they needed something, all they had to do was ask. Cars, jobs, money, food, clothes… it was all provided.

School functions were always amusing for me. Most kids would have their parents, their grandparents… But I would have a flock of people proud of me. Cheering me, showing their love. No one ever felt left out and all were deserving. I’d look out and see all the faces, all their colors, all their languages and I felt safe.

No wonder people were always staying.

The house. Pt. 1

When we moved to the states, it was to a wide open space in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by farmland, woods, streams, and ponds.

The land was purchased by my family several years before. And the house that sat in the middle of it all was a seven bedroom Victorian.

There were libraries, gardens, summer kitchens, chicken coops, canning closets, barns, sheds, carriage houses. It was a house with a story. A house of work.

It was a big house for so few people. So Mama would take in strays. A woman leaving her abusive husband. A woman out of money and states away from home. A woman shunned by the convent. A woman escaping history. A woman hiding. A woman lost.

On top of the circulation pile of strays there were people always staying over. Friends, family, business partners, children, friends of friends. The house became full, and stayed that way until the day no one lived there.

For a while my mother was married to a slightly racist man. Narrow minded and manipulative. Mean with his words, stabbing you with his games. I’d imagine all the people around distracted her from that. Made her feel better about her choices. Made her feel not so alone.

He wasn’t the kind of man that shared. He hated competing for her attention. -He’d always lose.
And then the day came when she made him leave, five people on guard behind her. I (we) didn’t have to pretend he was my father anymore. She’d fallen in love with a younger man.

A man that was my first love.*

And so the days went. Bustling breakfasts and rambunctious dinners. Hands everywhere helping prepare, serving, cleaning. Food was a happy thing that brought the lost souls together. Everyone had a job. (Mine was sauce and bread.) 15 people at a table every night demands a sense of unity. I grew up lucky to have so much love around me. It’s what made me independent.