Priscal

Tonight, Father, something strange happened... She said, as she made the bed for her to sleep beside: As I gazed at the edge of the hill tonight, I saw a man who looked like you, and a little girl who looked like me. They were lost on an old, dark road. In one hand, he held a bridle like the one you hold, and in the other, a whip like yours. He was leading two young, red colts pulling a four-wheeled cart. Above their foreheads hung a hand from whose fingers protruded small, red chili pods. In the center of the hand was a bead, not as pure as the blue of the bead. The neighing of the two colts buzzed in my ear as if I were the little girl who used to sleep on the tray. I could no longer hear anything else. I couldn't even hear the clamor of your smoke, nor the conversations of the cemetery's inhabitants as they exchanged regrets.