Lavra’s Strange Soups

My sister Lavra had 120 children.

Babka, how can that be? She would die from birthing so many. Feeding them? Impossible!

None were hers by blood but through a bond created by war. If Lavra had food, street orphans had food. Babka shrugs. Scruffy little mites but with smiles pure as gold. Lavra made soup from scraps of this, and that bombed out of grocery stores. Or her friend’s homes. Onion/boiled-leather soup, cabbage/stray cat soup. Soup. Soup. Always soup. That is why she wouldn’t drink any on her deathbed. Also, that is why 120 people are here to honor her.

Día de Muertos

Today, on Cinco de Mayo, Pegman took us to Tulum, Mexico where I discovered a lagune. While wading, I met Carmen who told me her story. Thanks, Karen, for posting another good idea for a 150-word tall tale.

Two-hundred years have passed since Carmen was nominated “Keeper-of-Souls.”
Oh, how she rues the day,
for now, time moves so slowly she can divide seconds into quarter segments
then each of those into thirds.

The Not-Dead don’t realize that
the Truly-Dead are an unruly bunch.
All day, Abuela Maria fights with Tío Ricardo.
Gato Isabella continually tries to re-kill Tortuga Mateo.
The Gemelos, Poco and Pica, are weary of their conjoined hips
and often draw knives from the shadows.

Solace comes on Día de Muertos when every soul is required to spend the day with the living.
Carmen doesn’t care if they visit people they loved or people they despised
as long as every abuela, gato, tio, twin, and tortuga disappear.

Then, very quietly, she removes her dress,
pours a glass of chilled wine and
slips into the soothing waters of her secret cave
and screams until her throat goes dry.