Photo: The Bride by Gary Kroman
Born in a time when it was appropriate for a man to wed a girl who had yet reached puberty or was able to choose the direction she wanted her life to take. Any words spoken without request were slapped back into place. Directions taken from another, but never allowed to be given. Friends and acquaintances were also hand picked. What is the point of existing if not to be oneself? No one wants to feel owned or enslaved to another. It’s often hard to bite ones tongue, to know ones place, to fall in line, but when there is no alternative, in the end we do what we’re told. Her mother’s words “It’s for your own protection!” ringing in her ears now feels so meaningless as feeling protected was the last thing she was feeling. Walking down the isle headed towards an old man she could barely stomach, knowing she was meant to spend the rest of her life with just him, made her want to run atop the highest mountain in another part of the world where he could never find her. The reality was, all she had for transportation were her two feet which wouldn’t get her far, not to mention the fact that she was penniless. Look out old man, your luck is in hand, one young bride to the rescue. She’ll fill your home with children and give them her love, your belly will be full and with any luck your name will live on through your children. Protect your young wife, as that is your job now as told to her by her mother.
Protection©
Copyright© 2019
By Felina Silver Robinson
The Writings of Felina Silver Robinson 