Thursday, January 10, 2013

Demon Hands Upon Her Skin

They injure the heart of a woman—twist its faith like a dove’s neck to the breaking point—so that her eyes, glazed over with the lost look of humiliation, lose their angelic light. I have watched stone fists knock her soft face. Seen the back of her head crash into drywall. And I’ll never forget the blood dripping off her lip like hot wax down a candle. Or the tears in her eyes, accumulating like unanswered prayers.

Such an uninvited guest should be screened first, but it bullies its way in. It gets into her soul—this demon—pushes her aside as it enters her benevolent heart and pisses on the welcome mat. Suitcase in hand.

Its beady red eyes swell with contentment, a cigar dangles from its burnt lips. It teaches her about fear, fills her up with the loss of pride. She sits down with this evil fucker and pours it a drink. They pretend to be satisfied, for the moment.

Then it occurs to her that this beast, in its excitement to dominate, has missed doors. It missed the hidden strengths women have, like courage. Courage is an angel with the wings of an eagle. It’s always inside of her.

When she finds the courage to break free, the demon will recede, realizing it cannot succeed in breaking the spirit. And she will find it—I have seen it happen.
 
 
From the book Kairos (print version only)
 

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