I am bound to her by blood, this madwoman of a city with eyes that see a comatose heart, with no feeling.
One, two, three hundred, a thousand — we are all carbon copies of her silicone *******, collagen cheeks teeth bleached whiter than the pearls we adorn ourselves with.
I was a child when I left this madwoman, mother of my younger years. I left her drinking cuba libres, stirring ice with her finger, her nails crimson red.
I said, “Goodbye, I am leaving you.” She turned her face back to the barrio and said, “Adios, Muchacha.”
Years later, I look back on my youth. I remember her as the mother I lost the sister I never had the woman I was afraid to become.
If only she knew how easy she was to leave how difficult she was to forget.