Crossroads
Traces of the wheels of lost trucks left in the muddy road.
The cemetery was peaceful after the rainfall. Sparkling
raindrops hung on the stone faces as if the statues had
cried unemotionally last night. On our return, everyone
was in a hurry. One woman stopped momentarily and looked
back: crosses, rusted lamps, marble wings, marble collars,
the high grass.
“Come,” her husband told her pulling her by the hand. They
both waited
on the other side of the road, another carriage was passing
with eight small-bodied horses which were covered with
red, tight masks, and golden fringes on their feet.
Libros Libertad 