We were no holy witness

So when it happened, she knew the largest flies must rise. Waves of something hard had crushed us. We never prayed so much. There was no use in trying to overlook it any longer. Her mother, my grandma, was going down there in the earth with the other cold people. It was something that made our skin feel an inch thick. We wouldn't have her anymore. She'd be covered up in old dirt made to look new and black with the shovel blade. I was ignorant. I was twelve. The length of sky was the size of my naivety. Wide and blank. Then grandma was taken into a clutch. Her only thought we'd never know. My father didn't have any words and my mother had words that sounded like they were on the highest hill. They rolled down with so much compassion. They frightened me because they sounded like guilt. My sister looked down into the marrow of them and cried. Don't tell me that, I heard her say once to no one. We were no holy witness.

Anyway, it was a death. That was a long time ago. There was a road then that led us to the cemetery and a building blown away. Behind the eyelids, I saw the sun and thought it was the face of God. The swallows rushed out from under a tree. They weren't getting along like me and my sister. We didn't have an adult endurance because we were children. But it was an adult day. I'll always wonder how it was I was not afraid. Mother could only breathe if she said nothing. There came a day when she started talking again. Again, her words frightened me when I heard them. I was tasting crumbs in my pocket. I looked up to see her watching me. There was a scuffle in the air. It went through my heart. I understood something about losing someone.

Grandma rose up in my heart. I wanted her to come back. The only time I saw her was when there was a crack of light beneath the door. I asked her. Her silence floated in my gut. I was nothing. Sometimes I saw her in my features. My eyes dripped. I turned very white. Meanwhile, mother's steps were an urgent scrape. She was never the same because with death, a valve opened up inside her and she couldn't keep it shut. Part of her mind turned gray. Something squeezed her throat. We sat together in silence. Someone let out a breath like a part hissing in a truck.

So she disappeared too. Not into the earth, but over it, one evening. I thought I saw her walking in the windows. Those she left waited up for her. She'd left us with cutting edges. We looked upside down. But I didn't feel any trace of fear. Father was laying back on the couch. Everyone was much older now. We knew how to act. That is certainly true. There was not heart in her leaving. And I would leave too one day. I think I knew that even before I thought it.

Peace! I thought. Peace and peace and peace!