He, with his wild eyes and mattered hair, smile from ear to ear. Soul sung out, spark gone… Phone calls at night, pleading, too much…
That marla, aunty atyenye, when horse back rides across desert skies weren’t enough and families fighting became too much, that grog fueled night gave her a geedgee tree to hold tight her rope. Her body limp and hanging, gave her hope.
My uncle, too long ago, drug fueled psychosis.
Kwementyaye, left hanging from electric wire.
Kungka, with same name like my mumma… told me a story about the rock that was like wurlatja, breast… If you rub it the right way, yours will grow, bigger, she said.
And some drunk men decided it was her breasts they wanted to know… for that kungka, with the same name as my mumma, it was enough.
I used to think suicide chased me. And wonder when it would end.
I have felt the pull of noose, the restriction of breath, that first initial choke of throat.
But that blessing of oxygen… pulled me back.
So now I only hang on every breath.
And I will tell you I love you. I will send you forgiveness. I will lick clean the salt from your wounds if I need to. I will cuddle you gentle in awkwardness.
I will cut every noose you try to make, every time you make it.
And it’s my own fear that compels me so.
And I am not talking of a lover or brother or sister… but all.
As humanity falls, we need to pick her up.
Rekindle a culture were we all belong, as warriors, in our own strength.
And let each other only hang, on every breath.