stump
Someone is trudging up a mountain with a plastic baby. There are other things in the sack, sealed tubes of cream, a bottle of water, an apple. Perhaps today someone will be home. Yesterday the hovel was empty and
beckoning inquires bounced back from the rocks. Yesterday a dog followed her halfway, wary, from a distance. She talked to it even after it was no longer there. Your mother knew, she said. Your mother licked you and licked you. Your mother didn't use cow dung on the stump. Didn't use motor oil. Didn't use turmeric. Your mother's tongue, she sighed.
- Category: True Stories Told As Fiction
- Tags: infant mortality, infection, Nepal, Chlorhexidine
4 comments add one below
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Jim M over 8 years ago
I find this deeply unsettling, something about the image created affects me at a deep level. Love it, Good one!
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D.M. over 8 years ago
I wondered if the title was too strong. This is the word used for the umbilical cord
once it is severed, but 'stump' to me implies an amputated limb? Perhaps that is
what unsettles? -
Jim M over 8 years ago
I can't put my finger on it, but it definitely has a deep emotional resonance for me, which I hope you'll accept as a huge compliment to the strength of your writing and your choice of language here.
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D.M. over 8 years ago
Thank you.
