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.

The Progression of Wheels

I’m a little late to our Fairy Blog Mother’s party, but who can resist Rochelle’s invitation with Ted Strutz’s picture on the front? I will be in and out of FF world for a while. I’ve been teaching aerobics at the local Y which is closing at the end of January. In order to continue teaching the ladies I’ve fallen in love with, I must take an online class then a big test. I only say big because it’s been ages since I’ve been tested for anything but getting through life without hurting myself. AS always, thanks for reading my work.

Twin boys rest beside my bed in wheeled bassinets.
My heart breaks with joy.

Three-year-old boys clatter through the house on miniature plastic trucks.
I pray for ten minutes of silence.

Seven-year-olds rumble across the kitchen on roller skates
while singing, “Wheels go round-and-round.”
I roar with anger.

Seventeen-year-olds arrive home with fast cars.
I worry.

Twenty-one, my boys ride down the tarmac in a military plane
headed for God knows where.
I weep until my chest hurts.

At twenty-three my boys return in twin caskets
draped in American flags wheeled down the tarmac in the rain.
My heart breaks again.

An InLinkz Link-up

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Sweet Memories

Our Friday Fictioneers photo prompt was provided by Jean L. Hays and posted by our hard-working leader, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

You balance beneath the Tucumcari sign, bent-kneed, and crook-backed,
harsh wind whipping your thin white hair.
Docs at Resting Arms nursing home declared you empty-headed.
Not so.
Memories of people who passed through your trading post wander around in your mind like welcome guests.
Each memory sharp.
Juanita: Spanish dancer with a chihuahua who sang “Starlight.”
Roy: Man driving his wife’s skeleton the length of Route 66.
Unique and Special: Twins joined at the shoulders, riding bikes, side-by-side.
Your favorite?
Brice: Brahma bull rider. Grinner of wide grins. Slapper of thighs.
The rodeo man who made you laugh for sixty-nine years.

An InLinkz Link-up

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