anastacia was caged at the mouth with iron bars and straps. a muzzled revolutionary in brasil. her striking beauty coupled with her intelligence and courage sparked fear in the bowels of pale faced men and women who thought her a pretty beast to ride . . . at first.
she spoke of rebellion in a language second only to the drum, and the short-sighted and greedy colonizers thought it best to cage the tongue, teeth, and lips, rendering the chords struck inside her throat meaningless.
they wanted her body, still.
they needed her blood to make new generations. they needed her back to carry the burden of humanity's violent desires.
they had not considered her eyes and the passion they sparked inside the hearts of her comrades, regardless of the perceived silence the others enforced.
she spoke rebellion in a glance.
so, they lowered her into the ground, burying her inside the earth, completely ignorant of the power of a solitary muerta in the minds and hearts of the living.
the inevitable rebellions born inside the mouth and eyes of one black woman only grew stronger for her transcendance of the mortal realm, haunting the living forever.
she still speaks to her soldiers, whether they have made the pilgrimage to her shrine in rio or not.
last night, i tore the muzzle from my mouth in sleep. though the pain of ripping metal from my tongue and the flesh beneath my teeth was great, freedom proved more precious.
someone blew me a kiss today . . . because i spoke. i felt the kiss flutter across the room and land softly on my lips. i smiled. and the rebel smiled back.
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