Chewing on gravel makes for diamonds
She wants to be a model, but she is born into a family of butchers.
At age twenty, she sleeps with a God of Egypt. He reaches up and touches her, bringing her through the nights with whiskers that poke her cheeks. One day, life grows inside of her. She calls him Moses, but one night Mr. Jackal pushes in too hard, and he takes Moses back; Moses will bring no plagues to Egypt. She changes her name to Nefertiti, a Queen of old, believing that this will leave no room for butchers – and yet, she knows, Mr. Jackal stays.
(Inspired by this poem of my own – also, this is a piece of fiction; I’m not out to bash religions or some such nonsense, m’kay? It’s pure creative inspiration, that’s all.)
When we were small, we had in our backyard what we thought of as a field of sugar canes. It wasn’t that, of course, except for in our imagination. We have sugar beets, not canes, here in the Scandinavian North. Up until this day, I don’t know what those imagined sugar canes truly were – maybe bamboo or a type of weed? – but I do know that they were tall, green, round and juicy, and I also know that they made this delightfully crisp sound when we harvested them with our makeshift play-scythes. I remember those days vividly and with fondness, but I understand now, sister of mine, that you perhaps never saw those sugar canes, but that I, and only I, was the one who did.