What right did God have to put chambers into her back? It would be years still until the buds would split open, a pouch having formed inside each one, and the tenant moths would come to lay their eggs in the little hollow chambers. But seeing those bumps there on her own back, raised up under her own skin-as yet, the color of the rest of her and featureless-Paige did not feel honored at all. Her mother had spoken of her own chambers abstractly: a promise, an honor, a gift from God. Pulling her long, pecan-colored hair forward over her shoulder, she noticed the little constellation of four raised bumps in the middle of her back, two on each side of her spine, just between her shoulder blades. Did her elbows look weird? Were her widening hips and thighs fat or beautiful? She turned and twisted, trying to see herself from every angle. She stopped to examine herself in the mirror above the sink, not yet steamed with the hot water. She was in the upstairs bathroom, the one with the vining yellow flowers in the wallpaper and the faux-tile linoleum, about to get in the shower. Paige was twelve years old when she first noticed the buds along her spine. Author Naila Francis Posted on FebruCategories Poetry, Reckoning 7 Leave a comment on After encountering the grey whales in El Burbujon, Laguna Ojo de Liebre Those Dark Halls Than longing, want the place that dreamed
What I mean is, who wouldn’t rather rhapsody In a lagoon in the blue middle of nowhere.
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