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Thursday, June 09, 2016


From Tammy Swofford:
The soft whisper of morning was broken by her first cry. And in the adventus hour of wakefulness which follows birth she directed her gaze toward the voice which she had come to recognize as that of her mother. 
The womb had revealed her treasure and now one woman looked up, while another, fixed her gaze downward. Their eyes met and comfort flowed between them. 
Beloved by her father, part of a large family, the woman was allowed to experience a measure of free will. 
Entering young adulthood she chose to teach in a village school. When a marriage proposal was forthcoming, she lived up to her family name: Sadaqat. 
The truth is that she sincerely was not ready for marriage. So the response from her father was a firm “no”. 
Months passed and one season beckoned to the next. Generation continued to call out to generation. Life seemed calm and full of promise. The shadows tangled along the road when the men came for her. 
Toting the petrol along with their fists tightly clenched, they set out to teach the woman a lesson. Brute force with the cunning of a lynx approached the home. 
The men knew she was alone, caring for a much younger sister whilst her family attended a funeral. Faces more prideful than Nanga Parbut, a deep sense of dishonor by the father of the jilted suitor had built into glacial acidic acid. 
The woman could not put up much of a fight because she was outnumbered. Bullies always run in packs. But as she doubled over in pain she instinctively reached to protect that area where future treasure awaited her own life. 
Woman. Thy name is called Woman.

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