“My body, it remembers.
It remembers so much good
after so much horror.”
My body, it remembers. It remembers all those nights of heinous, unwanted invasions. What it was like when my skin crawled like a million tiny spiders. It remembers how it protected itself. What it was like to be a woman when it was still a child. To break into a thousand tiny pieces. To feel like dying, if only to end the pain.
My body, it remembers. It remembers the gentle touch of someone worthy. The meaning of worship and love. The sense of empowerment and elation, like a woman should feel. It remembers a tiny life, growing and strong. Every tiny movement, especially when that life reminded me everything was alright. The miracle. It remembers birth, joy, and relief. The astonishment of what it created. Perfection.
My body, it remembers. It remembers so much good after so much horror.
© Sarah Doughty
There’s always hope
for a better future.