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 Band-legged Splocket

Jordie’s uncle told him years ago that the only way to catch a band-legged Splocket was a bright pink cookie with blue sprangles. And here was his chance. Her cave had collapsed. Thank goodness he’d made the cookie five years ago and kept it in the freezer. Donning his protective helmet he moved forward, step by achingly slow step. The sides of the cave moved. A growl. Jordie dangled the cookie. Silence. He slid forward. A yelp. The uppermost slab lifted . . . lifted, a pink banded leg emerged, then another. What the hell? His brother already clutched the Splocket in a leg-lock!

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