Seraphene Anbolho

[seraphene]

Day One 2022: Cross

The waters flow From the mountains Across the canyon And into my heart Where it is trampled

They say my mother crossed here That Many crossed with her That Few made it to the other side That I should consider myself lucky

I look to the waters and see The world She never showed me Hear the sounds She never spoke

In the river I see her face For just a moment Then The waters flow

[seraphene]

Day One: Foster

She sat by the fire, nestled up against the foot of the couch with a weaving array across her lap. Her fingers run over the threads of wool yarn beside her as she tries to choose her colours. Black? That would suit her. White? It would contrast well with the black. Purple? She likes the colour, and it would go well with the other two, but I can’t have her looking like a Jinjahl. She can wear red, then. Like me. 

She carefully lines her lengths of yarn across the apparatus, straightening them out towards her, and letting the yarn fall gently from her fingers like strands of hair. She grabs the central threads and begins weaving, the same way her grandmother taught her. She crosses the strands and muscle memory takes over. Under, over, under, over.

I hope she’ll like it. Something she can bring with her on her adventures. Store her tools, her notes. Have something that reminds her of me, when she’s off on her own. And if she’s going to come back home with me to meet my mothers, she’ll need something to help her fit in. I wouldn’t want her to go through all those meals and dances while people question if she really belongs. Like me. 

Under, over, under, over. 

At the very least, it could serve as a nice gift. Make her smile for a moment. Maybe even laugh. Whenever Khuja got a new sash, she used to run it across her shoulder, tuck me against her back, and go running through the forest. She’s a bit too big for me to do that for her now but... I’ll think of something. She has a nice smile. Like me. 

She looks over her work, red diamonds, spotted and outlined with white thread, sitting on a black ocean. She nods to herself, and goes back to her work. Under, over, under, over.

I’m sure my sisters won’t let me hear the end of it. An Ala Mhigan raised by Keepers, trying to teach a Keeper girl what she knows. But I suppose even if I can’t help her, they might be able to. Teach her the things I never could do. Worked out last time a lost girl who didn’t know her mother showed up in front of them. I suppose I’m just continuing the tradition, then. She’s gone through too much, too young. I wish I knew how to help her better. To deal with the things that bother her. Confront them. Make peace with them. Hold her close to me and never let her go. Do something to stop those thoughts from festering. From consuming her. From causing her to run off, cutting everyone off. From living every day in fear and sadness. From wearing a mask to hide who she is from everybody. From holding in all that pain, all that anger, and turning it against her. From making her end up

Like me.