LatinosUSA

She moved next door, and her kids didn’t like it. It was always cold. She had the windows open. Maybe she was getting old and needed bold strokes, solid moves, blood flow through the veins in her legs. She wasn’t someone who went looking for trouble, but the wrong word sometimes slipped out. Her kids had to wonder. But it worked both ways: They were into whatever and she didn’t know what it was. They said she brayed like an ass. But they’re the ones to talk. She wanted the best for them but she didn’t know what it was. She spent the week remembering when she thought it was love. She hadn’t liked love all that much. How it tasted like poverty. The small touch of attachment and loss of self. Not to mention separation. Living on a half shell. She thought about the past, but it slipped off the shelf and she didn’t repeat the question.