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Laid out with care this woman lifted from a dry river-bed. Here is death but also preservation: turned-up nose, high cheekbones, long lashes fringing her sunken eyes ... Beside her a child staring, close to tears, hands bunched into fists ... a six-year-old girl and this ageless beauty. Rising between them the dust of centuries.
Children need to walk together, arm in arm with strangers, wear badges of hope and T-shirts with lifelines, sing words of wisdom and history, chant choric responses of camaraderie in a mass movement of human voices. Understand the justice of causes and the constant need for change.
Grabbing my hand you drew a line on your chest, moving on to make the sign of the cross. Or so it seemed. Priest! You want a priest? I said, puzzled yet pleased to read your mind. You rolled your eyes, looked up to the ceiling, slowly shook your head.
Her skin bears witness to his absence ... The rooms, ambivalent about space, contract/expand at will. Day by day she is shrinking.