Tanishe sat on a lone rock amidst a sea of waving grasses. The morning sun made her face glisten already with sweat but save for occasionally wiping away brilliant beads from her forehead and nose, she ignored this. Her legs were tucked up beneath her, touching the little lacquered box she’d brought with her. It was an extravagant item for their way of life but she both treasured and hated it. Hated that she had to use it and yet it gave her comfort on days like today - days when she wanted and needed to be alone.

Wood shavings lay scattered atop her lap with more dropping every few seconds as she put the finishing touches on her little carving. It was simple and oblong, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, and looked vaguely humanoid in shape. The knife outlined where a face might be but she put no features on it. Most of her concentration lay in making the details of the bundled blanket around the little figure. She never put faces on them. It was impossible to know what to place there, how to carve features she’d never seen or been able to touch.

The first several times she’d made these, tears streamed down her face. Over the years, she had no more tears to give but the heaviness, the disappointment remained as poignant as ever. Of all things, she’d wished that would dull and fade; the guilt and anger at her own womb for being unable to keep a child alive but the emotions remained. She was soothed, though, as she rubbed the rough cloth over the surface of her little bundle, beginning the process of smoothing it until it was free of abrasions.

She dipped a different cloth into a little pot of seed oil and rubbed the oil into the wood’s surface, sealing it and polishing it in the process. The scent drifted up, faint and familiar, and she sighed at it. The process of having to do this a few times a year was still horribly painful. She wondered if she’d have to do it forever or maybe one day she would just stop remembering them altogether. Stop wishing and dreaming.

Once she was done, the cloths put away and the lid on the pot of oil, she sat with her little figure pressed close to her heart, trying to muster up tears for it but unable to do so. “I’m sorry little one,” she whispered as she watched the grasses sway in the breeze. “I’m sorry…”

Her eyes burned and the savannah blurred as the tears welled up, hot and relieving, spilling down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, humming. On her lap lay the other little bundles she’d carved over the years, each better than the last with the amount of practice she had. A skill she wished she didn’t possess. All of her unborn children, her lost ones, the ones who’d been birthed but had no breath, all were remembered, each and every lost little hope and prayer, together with her as their newest little one joined them.

She stayed like that for what felt like hours, swaying, humming, weeping, indulging in the self pity she rarely allowed to bubble up so vile and painful in her chest that she wanted to die to get away from it….but the sun grew too hot and her tears dried up. The calm resignation returned and Tanishe slowly lowered her carving from her chest and held it out in both palms to look at it. “I love you,” she whispered and kissed it. Then she lowered it gently into her lacquered box and stroked its little form one last time. The next one lay beside its sibling, and the next, and the next, and the next, until her crowded box once again held its precious cargo.

Closing the lid meant the end of mourning for now but she wasn’t ready to leave. She hugged the box close and pressed her forehead to it, her breath unsteady and she thought for a few seconds that she might cry again but the feeling passed. Wind swept across her shoulders like a ghostly touch and she looked up, wondering if it was her father or grandmother, come to give her strength. She hoped so.

In the distance, the tents of her people dotted the horizon and Tanishe slipped off the rock. She set her box down and gathered up her supplies, wiping her eyes and finding solace in such a practical task. As she walked back to the tribe, her bag hanging on her shoulder, she made sure to notice how achingly blue the cloudless sky was, the sound of sand whispering beneath her sandals, the grass swaying behind her like a wake of water. A bird wheeled high overhead and Tanishe nodded to it. Yes, her grandmother was with her...watching. She stopped and pressed a kiss to her fingers, then lifted her hand to the bird above her. “Thank you, Grandmother,” she whispered. The bird slowly followed her into the tent village and Tanishe felt heartened. Heartened enough to continue and to try.