I remember. I remember everything. I remember the wind blowing and the sun shining when I first tried to kill myself. I remember the sun shining when I ran away from the hospital. The hospital wouldn’t let me take my traditional medicines. So, I ran away and hid until it was safe. Safe? Safe meant the police stopped looking for me.
I remember when the police arrived and he was on top of me. I remember the sun shining down on my face. The grass was still dewy. The cement felt cold. Strangely, I didn’t fell any pain. I don’t know why I didn’t feel any pain. Was it disassociation?
Sometimes when it is cold out, I feel the pain. The pain stretches from the top of my outer thigh to the scar, where the knife pierced my skin. I remember that night. Clearly. Except at that one moment when the knife penetrated my skin. The waitress called out my stage name. “You are bleeding!” The waitress asked me if I needed anything. “Get me some clean bandages.” I paused. “And two shots of sambuca.”
Other times, I feel the pain whenever I walk. I carry the pain with me. The heel of my foot pulses with pain. The doctors said it was okay. The nurse said it was okay too. “You will be laying down anyways.” In the cell. The cold, hard cell. The nurse was right. I just lay inside my cell. I only knew if it was night or day. But I never knew what day or what night. Or how many nights. Or how many days.
Then, on other days, my shoulder hurts. Then, my arm. A sharp sensation traveling from my shoulder down to my finger tips. Where I go, so does the pain. From the soles of my feet to the nape of my neck. Colonialism, I carry it in my body. The hurt. The aches. The pain. When people say that the land is connected to the body, I now know what they mean. I hurt. It hurts. My body.
Land connected to body.
I wonder what is the pain our Mother Earth carries?