Through the Blue Glass

“Through the Blue Glass”

“We've been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we

still function the way we're supposed to. But it's a lie, it's all a lie; every person, place, thing

and idea is a lie. I do not function properly. I am nothing more than the consequence of

catastrophe.”

― Tahereh Mafi, Unravel Me

    I lay on the couch in the front room.  On the couch, we are not allowed to sit on -

in the front room, which we are not allowed to use.  It’s the middle of the night, and

I am watching the cars that occasionally drive by our house.  I’m catching the

reflection of the headlights through the blue Yemeni glass bottles in the front windows.

    My mother has been collecting these glass bottles for years, and the light that reflects

from the headlights calms me.  I do this on the nights he comes to my room and cuts

away at my innocence over and over again.  He then leaves me there, goes to his room,

and falls asleep as though nothing has happened, as though I don’t matter, have no

consequence, and my existence is just an extension of his perverted desires.  

    I am left to pick up my pieces.  I lay there on the forbidden couch, catching the pretty

blue rays, trying desperately to lull myself back into my own body.  I am trying to put

my pieces back together like a jigsaw puzzle.  Over time, though, more and more pieces

go missing, and the puzzle looks less and less like me.  

    On the forbidden couch in the room we aren’t allowed to use through the blue glass.