I’m told to turn and face my mother.
As I look at her, how do I feel?
Sad. Sadness that weighs heavy, like wet sandbags in my belly.
I turn around to face what my mother and I are focused on. It’s my older sister.
She died at two years old.
What do I feel?
Not much.
I was born after she died.
She’s been long gone.
Suddenly, I’m almost on top of her. Something from behind pushed me.
I turn to look.
The old mare stands where I was just standing, her eyes fixated on me, her head hung low.
I turn back to my sister. Why don’t I feel anything?
I never even knew her.
Again, the old red mare unexpectedly pushes me towards her.
Okay.
I see you, older sister. I’m your little sister.
I’m told to turn around and face my mother again.
How do I feel?
No more sadness. I look into her eyes. I feel her presence.
Thank you for my life, Mom.
I drop my head in acknowledgement.
Whatever I was carrying is gone.
Ruby
I can see her glowing from across the corral.
Her heart has been overtaken by a little one who has no heartbeat.
Does she know the cost of carrying a dead child, or what it costs the dead one?
Now she’s turned to face the place where the little one needs to stand, but she’s still carrying her like a rotten carcass.
I walk up behind and push her forward with my nose.
She turns to look at me, surprised, still burdened.
When she turns around, I push her again, harder.
Drop that corpse, let her stand on her own.
Finally she does it. The child is set free.
I can leave now.