La Choza

 The shack had no windows, but the moonlight spilled through a crack in the ceiling. The woman’s thoughts floated with the dust on the white rays streaming through the dark room. She lay on her back, more awake than she ever was during the day. The man had visited her dreams again. She tried to make sense of his words, “your baby is dead inside you.”

For months she had allowed herself to believe her slight frame was to blame for her lack of growth. Secretly she envied the short, fat women with the round bellies. She looked at her husband who lay next to her on the cot. His body raised and lowered gently with each breath. A surge of hatred and shame washed over her. She couldn’t even give breath to her own child – dense and lifeless within her. Strained thoughts couldn’t force her heartbeat into the child’s. The rhythm of the cicadas outside set pace with her own heartbeat.

She slid from her bed and stood atop a bucket in the corner of the room. Dios mio. God too stood on high ground and looked down on his Kingdom. The moonlight touched la Virgen Maria shrine, which glowed in the room’s corner. The life of a mother was one of interruptions. God gave and God took away. She tied her hair back and stepped down. 

The plant sat on the table. She picked the leaves slowly and set them to boil in her pot. She would brew the tea until morning, and drink, cleansing her. The density would leave her body and bring lightness once again.

As the moon’s white beams turned gold with the sun’s rays, she sipped her concoction before folding herself back into her bed. Her husband yawned awake. Time to start another day in her kingdom.