After the Ashes

When I stopped, the sun was in the sky and the lights in the Priest’s house had just come on. You were still sleeping, sucking your thumb, unaware of the arms that held you. Your mother’s cheeks and hands were all I saw when I looked at you.

“What is the child’s name?”

“Maria.”

“Come inside and we can talk as I prepare for the morning mass.”

If that Priest were to tell me to walk backwards today I would, for he looked at me and prayed for me that morning and simply said, “Even Abraham had to leave his home for a land he did not know. Bless you my Son.” He was the third person to see the good in me my child and never ever forget this. You can forget me, or your parents, or your home, but never forget this man Maria. As I say this, I know that it was not easy staying with him, but he gave me a chance and whenever it felt too much for me he encouraged me to keep on. Wait, I seem to be running and squatting, but there is something about being rained on till your body grows warm that I am aware of.

An excerpt of “After the Ashes,” something I’m currently working on.

 

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