machete fragment

I just got back from the land with layla. I was machete-ing the thistles and mosqueta. Layla stood in the wind eating fennel. We had a hard night last night. She’s leaving mami’s breast. She sees mami and papi fighting. When I was a kid what I hated the most was seeing my parents fight. You’re trapped there. There’s nowhere to go. When it’s over and your parents treat each other nice again you don’t understand: weren’t you just screaming at each other a few minutes ago?

For a few minutes I put the machete down and sat on the ground with Layla. The grass was tall all around us and blowing around in the wind. Layla’s hair was blowing. I looked at it and thought how I couldn’t have imagined sitting down here with a daughter when we first came here only 4 years ago. When you’re a father it doesn’t really feel differently from when you weren’t a father except at certain times. Watching her there with the wind blowing was one of the. Watching her fall asleep last night was another. She wasn’t face-down on mami’s breast as usual but lying on her back looking at the ceiling. Laura was on the other side of her. We both sensed she was about to fall asleep and pretended to be looking up at the ceiling too. It was after 1:00 a.m.

My knuckles are cut up a little bit from swinging the machete through the mosqueta. I always feel better when my body is in a state of semi-damage. It means I’m not just inside on my ass somewhere.

The girls are waiting for me to come back into the other room and be with them.