Carried

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Carried by my father.

 

I’ve been carried all my life, though at first I was too small to see. My father carried half of me in a small pouch, until he met my mother. I would have been forgotten, but mother came alongside of him with the other half, then placed me in the pocket she put all her children in.

 

So spare, so silent, she hardly knew I was there, listening, wondering, and waiting. All day she walked and rocked me. I slept as she moved through her day. When she lay down to rest, I woke. Day and night were both dark to me.

 

Before I knew the words, I heard voices muffle and murmur love, felt the soft bounce of laughter, and the sharp shake of tears. Hands spoke their joy and expectation, now patting, now prodding, now pushing against my feet as I pushed back. Too young for school and all alone, I tried to find the formula for X and Y that would please them. Outside they waited for a boy, inside I waited as a girl.

 

I tried my best to stay by staying small, but the pocket could not hold me. I knew I had to go. Thinking I should travel light, I even grew a smaller brain. How was I to know I would need a larger one when I got to that other place?

 

Leaving was the hardest; the passage, dark and narrow. Mother never had a smaller child or one so fearful to appear before the others. We struggled, both of us, until I was carried home.

 

Almost forgotten once, half here, half there, now here. Carried, always carried, by stories, time, and secrets.

 

I’ve been carried all my life. How about you?

42 thoughts on “Carried

  1. A beautiful post, year-stricken, though sad in that they wanted a boy… though we often don’t know what to wish for… what’ll be right for us. The picture of the early family is very touching, and beautiful too. I can sense the presence of your parents. I hope that the joy, mentioned already, at this very early stage of life, accompanied you as you grew up. And I really don’t think that size is very important, though so many people give it importance.

    • They picked out a boy’s name and had to adapt it when they saw me. My father especially wanted another child (his second), but my mother not as much. I was the seventh of those who lived.

  2. If your brain is smaller, the brain you forbade yourself must be fearsome!

    I’ve been carried, too. I’ve only really started appreciating it now, though.

    Beautiful, as always!

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