Her entire family died that night.
In her mouth, she carried their bones out
of her den and dragged them to the
stovetop, lit only by the hallway light.
She hid them in the drawer
underneath the oven, her act – illuminated.
Worthless now, are her plastic pearls.
Laid to rest, next to a mess of thread,
yellowed dental floss, and the single hair that
wrapped itself around the bristles of her
blue tooth brush. She pulled it out
gently with her teeth before she put it
back on the counter.
That always happens.
Hanging above her is her memory.
Her memory. That final bite of milanesa
in the morning. Her ghosts at night
have strange dreams, they wail in silence, seeking
the relief from knowing her as child. Meanwhile,
she imagines drowning.
She does not know if these are tears of
joy or tears of sorrow. Eventually
she will forget her sins. Silence.
It may be hours before her body rises to the surface.