Running
Words by Sandy Best | Art by Erika Aldrich Murga
I picture her running for water or maybe something to eat. Her rough brown skin is calloused by the earth. There is sweat in her eyes from the oppressive heat, but even then she looks up at that golden star in the sky and she smiles with every running step. The earth spins beneath her feet and she is thankful because even if she runs for survival, at this moment she is free.
I picture her again but this time, leather huaraches adorn her feet. Tough leather molded to her shape. And, still, she runs. The same star lighting her path and the hem of her colorful skirt dancing sweetly around her steps. She runs because she must, but as she glances down to see the earth roll beneath her steps, she is free.
I see her running, and this time I can touch her. White sneakers trek through mud and brush by night when it is the moon that lights her path. When the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, she retreats. Tucks me and her behind things to keep us safe from the ones who look for us. In the heat, her hair sticks to her forehead. I hug her leg and she wipes the dirt from my small face. She runs and I follow close behind. She runs because she flees. And though at this moment she is anything but free, she looks down at me and tells me that one day, I will be free.
I am her now. In a way, I’ve always been. In the morning while it is still dark, I weave my black hair into tight braids as a tribute. The shoes I wear carry me long distances and I whisper thanks to my mothers and my body as I tie the laces. I follow the same star that guided my mothers before me. It kisses my face and I lift my chin to meet it, my braids dancing sweetly upon my shoulders. And as the earth spins beneath my feet, I am joyful. I am free.