Susan LaffertyA place called Marah. “Bitter.”
Men, women, and children trudge through wilderness. After Egypt. After walking between walls of sea. After escaping the enemy.
But now. On the other side. There’s no water anywhere.
Until they reach Marah.
And they find it so. The water, that is.
Bitter.
Early morning dark.
Dawn, only a whisper
in the air.
We walk. Step by step.
Following a road
to the place of tombs
and death.
Slow in sorrow.
Wrapped in the fog
of grief.
Not looking for the living
among the dead.
“Is your arm hurting?” she asks. Yes. The broken bone near my shoulder is healing. Slowly.
It’s 2015 and Manga is prepping me for physical therapy at a hospital in Malaysia. “Be happy!” she says. “Think positive thoughts. Then you will not be hurting.”
I smile. She’s friendly. Gregarious. Her speech and ways and dress make me feel at home.
South Asian home.
