Canto

As the corner falls away in front of us, my hand falls to the bulge appearing in my
Stomach.  Shouts cascade, hollow thuds of blows struck to flesh echo off the rock that form the surrounding cliffs.  The child at my side drops my index fingers and steps forward, while I stand nearby.

Shrill, harsh words spat out at the children who sit wrapped in diapers, petrified
Looks glazed on their faces as tears flow down their soft, round faces.  They weep for the insults they are barraged with, for the eggplant that dances under their skin long after the blood dries.

The small child, myself at age four, complete with blond hair, vibrant blue eyes waddles forward like a yellow duck and approaches the tall, broad woman who’s naval bursts out as mine begins to do.  She glances my way and stops her arm from its descent on the child before her and gestured

For me to come out from the depths of the cliff.  There, standing before me are dozens of other women, like the one who brought me forward. In the arms of one, hangs the helpless form of a small child, face down, inches from the ground. I ask my guide why this is, and his legs are brought together

And he is righted.  His small body crawls forward and he raises his arms to be held.
Now that he is closer, I can see who he is.  The white, ghostly face is unmistakable, the silicone nose could be noticed anywhere.  I hold him in my arms and open my mouth to ask what compelled

Him to hang that helpless child out the window.  His words cannot form and stutter, rolling clumsily off his small tongue.  An explanation or reason cannot be found, he has no escape, there is no rationalizing what he has done.  He cannot escape his fate.  Forever he will be feeling

The blood rushing through his body, falling into his head like sand to the bottom in an hourglass.
As he shakes his head sadly, I gently set him back on solid ground; I have seen all I need to.  The woman flips him again, returns his body to the eternal suffering he must having for he harassed

The helpless child for no reason.  My eyes fall dejectedly upon the other children who must eternally suffer for what they did.  Whether it is branding the child with physical damage, or flooding them with a sea of insults, the roles are reversed.  They incurred the mistrust

Of every mother-to-be and of the children then harmed.  The blond child of my youth
Holds my fingers once again and guides me through the maze of small bodies that occupy the rocky terrain.  I cast my last look on them as I walk on.  I will never forget what they have shown me, the truth.