Meerkat on Stonewall (no. 7)

I serve fried pork. Parsley on the side. Apple cake waiting. Sweet little lie. Her father’s stones. Stones in the garden. Stones that remain. Older women carry anger. Carry sorrow. Words never spoken aloud. She once wanted to study. They said no. So she cut off her fingers with pruning shears. Not metaphorically. She really did it. Subdued. Silent. And everybody went on eating. But I took my book... and I fucking left. They served the pork and passed the bread. Someone made a joke. Someone bowed their head. The photographs were polished. The tablecloth was white. Everybody looked respectable. Everything looked right. Blacksmith held me when I lost my ground. Now I wear his shadow when I walk around. They washed him clean. Shaved him down. Made him proper for the town. Put a smile upon his face, put a story in its place. But I saw the silence underneath the skin. You can clean a body. You don’t clean what’s been. And somewhere underneath the table— something small was watching. Please remain seated. Why? Because this is how families work. No. This is how furniture works. I was never furniture. I’M A MEERKAT! STANDING TALL! I’M A MEERKAT! I SEE IT ALL! I’M A MEERKAT! I DON’T STAY SMALL! I’M A MEERKAT! I DON’T CRAWL! I see the kitchen. I see the garden. I see the smile before the pardon. I see the hand behind the plate. I see who enters. I see who waits. I SEE YOU. They talk ethics soft and slow. Don’t know when to let you go. Call it care. Call it right. I see fear dressed up polite. “It’s for your own good.” “It’s what she needs.” “It’s only paperwork.” “It’s only keys.” And the cheese cooler stands there humming, like nothing in the world is coming. Replace the cheese cooler. Why? Because the old one contains inconvenient history. Oh. How convenient. Audit the archive. I’M A MEERKAT! WATCH ME RISE! I’M A MEERKAT! SHARP LITTLE EYES! I’M A MEERKAT! NO DISGUISE! I’M A MEERKAT! NO MORE LIES! Can I ever find again those pickled cucumbers in the sun and time? Warm jars from the Negev. Glass glowing in the light. Jewish women laughing, preserving little pieces of a disappearing world. And I remember thinking: Maybe this is home. Not the photograph. Not the house. Not the ledger. Not the name. Just women laughing while the jars catch sunlight. I dreamed we swam in Rebild in a warm and silent spring. Your head close to my shoulder. Nothing needed saying. No inheritance. No explanation. No one asking what I was worth. Just water. Just breath. Just us. Unresolved family material detected. That’s not material. That’s history. History must be processed. By whom? Authorized persons only. Then authorize the truth. Request denied. Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. They called me strange. They called me wrong. They told me I had carried it too long. But the stones remember. The women remember. The garden remembers. The body remembers. And the book— the book remembers everything. Take the book. Take the book. Take the book. PRUNING SHEARS! STONES IN THE POTS! GLASS JARS IN THE NIGHT! FRIED PORK! APPLE CAKE! SWEET LITTLE LIE! RELEASE THE MEERKATS! REBOOT THE ENTIRE PACK! BURN THE LEDGER! OPEN THE GARDEN! I’M A MEERKAT IN THE SUN! I’M A MEERKAT ON THE RUN! I’M A MEERKAT NOT THE ONE TO PLAY DEAD FOR ANYONE! I DON’T BELONG WHERE I CAME FROM! TOO MUCH TRUTH IN MY TONGUE! WILD GROWS BETTER OUT OF LINE! DON’T PUT FENCES ON WHAT’S MINE! STONES REMAIN! BUT SO DO I! STONES REMAIN! AND SO DO I! I TOOK MY BOOK! I TOOK MY NAME! I TOOK THE DOOR! AND LEFT THE GAME! The fortress is empty. The cheese cooler is dark. The garden is growing through the stones. The old women are still laughing somewhere in the sunlight. And the little meerkat is standing on the wall. Watching. Waiting. Not hiding anymore. Hiraeth... you are home in me. I see you.