This monologue was written as part of my portfolio for the module ‘Ancestors, Death and Burial’ and took inspiration from the ancient Near East and Levant people’s practise of re-plastering skulls as part of their funerary rites .
Mild trigger warnings: topic of death, inclusion of skull/character handles a skull.
In the quiet breath of dusk, here, in peace below my favourite terebinth. Ibises murmur around the village below. Their evening song blending into the voices of home. The sky turns crimson as the setting sun bleeds into the clouds. My bleeding started this morning.
I sit and study my daughter. She’s growing so quickly. I see the pain flash across her face – soon she’ll be a woman. Today marks when she came into this world. The day I was also taken from her. She wears my string of dentalium shells. At her feet, she has my skull.
I hold the skull lightly. The aged and ochre stained bone warmed by the setting sun holds some warmth of life again. My mother. My first time looking upon her – today when I need her the most.
She lights candles as the last sunlight dies. It’s silent in the town. Her fingers trace over my skull with such tender affection and love. The touch she should have known – warm like the sun not the cold of years below the earth.
There wasn’t the time before to tend to her skull as it should have been. Too much grief for my people, swaddling me as they buried her. No one went back to her – life has to go on. But I’m here now, here in the jasmine breeze.
I place a hand lightly on her shoulder. Does she know I’m here? The breeze is sweet with jasmine – the flower that bloomed when she was born. Patiently, she presses clay into my cheeks, into my forehead…I watch as I slowly come to life through her hands.
My mother was so beautiful. I know from father and the others. As the clay adheres to bone I try to envision how she would be. Dipping my fingers into cold water and moulding my touch to the contours. She feels closer to me now
The moon is high above. Silver and gold light dance within the claggy water. Still my daughter rebuilds my skull. I wish I could run my fingers through her hair or touch her forehead and smooth her furrowed brow.
Finally she looks like mother again. The clay is sticking to my fingers as much as it is to her. The muscles in my belly cramp again. The pain is too much. My own life blood reminds me why I’m here.
I see how much pain my girl is in. She shouldn’t be alone, but without a mother, who can she turn too? She gave so much life to my skull. I wish I could speak to her. I wish I could comfort her.
As I take two shells from my necklace, I carefully give mother her sight back. It feels like she’s here with me. I wonder what she would say if she could speak now she has her mouth back. I rest my forehead against hers, the drying clay soft and cool against my skin.
The night is almost over and her skin is as pale as the lime plaster. She gave her night to bring me back: my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my ears. Somehow she has clay and plaster all over her face too, as she felt herself to imagine me.
I wonder if we look alike? Now the sun is rising quickly and dappled shadows fall across us both. I feel her in the wind. I hear her in whispering leaves. I see her looking back at me as shadow and light play upon her skull.
She leans back against my favourite terebinth. Her head falling to one side as though resting upon my shoulder. I hear the murmur of ibises waking the town below. Soon I must leave my daughter. But I know she’ll be okay – I can watch over her now.
