Sybil Mosely

Great Aunt Dora lived by the fire in her brother’s house. Her ass-length hair was white and she refused to wear shoes. The night she died, all the dogs in the neighborhood roamed to wait in my
great-gandfather’s yard. Like Dora, I want my hair combed out big and long. A voluminous white linen will suit me, and no shoes, but tattoo my hands and fingernails with all the symbols and maps I’ll need between worlds. Instead of the sign of torture place a pastel de queso in the pit of each palm for the journey, and leave me under big rocks where the lizards sun.