She thought how life was simple and difficult-why she was here was down to America-the land of the brave and free.
Now she is incarcerated-the crime-getting old-feeble-sick-tired-brittle-dying
The reason behind everything that is ‘for your’ own good is money. It is called cultural cannibalisation-the consuming of the consumable-for ‘your’ benefit-we know best. It applies to anything colonised.
Your language-your lifestyle-your culture is invaded by the stars and stripes. This bottomless urge to hunt down is unfathomable.
As their eyes glazed affirmatively over her -the perfect candidate-house-money-assets and children who wanted her as an hourly visit-they had no choice she just wouldn’t bloody die.
The days lingered and washed each other in an insalubrious stench-the kind that goes up and into your brain-never leaving.
Mercy what have you got there?
NO stop she thought as they rolled her over and sat her in the wheel chair it was bath time.
He was black and strong and new she the other washer was indifferent-she squirmed her eyes held a frozen fear-God help me-kill me.
She looked at her hands resting on the steel arms loose skinned and mottled-good hands strong hands creative hands that used scratch his back and rip him. Hands that cooked cleaned made washed ironed slapped turned a heel knitted jumpers.
‘Ah stop would yeh stop shhhut up now’ indifference said. Pushing her off to dwell in a watery hell-he pulled her nighty over her head-it was light with a front button tie-blue.
As he pulled it up-she saw indifference looking in the mirror at herself admiring her makeup smoothing her hair.
Pulling her arms out-they were thin with wavy lines of the outgoing tide and razor fish brown lumps-he had the nighty to her neck-her arms strong to carry the turf-the children-hold the mule-bring the stones to build a wall-carry the earth-her grey black hair fell around her shoulders-exposed.
Pulling up one breast with the nonchalance of a child licking a lollipop he rubbed it-then the other one this time he kept rubbing the nipple-he continued to wash her neck and then rubbed the foamy water behind her neck holding her with one arm around her back his hand under her arm pit-washing with the other.
Mercy you must come and tell me you must.
She closed her eyes then opened them.
I’m going to be 91 next month she thought he can’t be 41.
Under and over her breasts he gathered them together like two pearls in an oyster a sensation ran though her-a knowing sensation from years ago years and years and years ago-an out of place defilement but also stimulating those latent long dead senses.
Indifference said ‘you ok there I’ll get the towels back in 10’
He stared at her then lifted a lazy breast up and licked it-licked its faded reddy brown nipple and jiggled it-still looking at her. Scared and stimulated she closed her eyes.
Maybe he’ll drown her.
He kept doing it then other.
Then he went for the grey tufted thin-skinned hall of ennui with his right hand whose entrance he probed with foamy waves of absorption-thunderous and languid as the sand met the sea on a stormy day.
‘Are you ready there?’ indifference said pushing her way in with towels.