My sister Juliet held Angelina, and has left with her husband Jorge, who carried Alyssa. These are names that will mean nothing to most of humanity. People with flexible limbs, easy to move, and soft to touch. One day, this will not be so. One day, they will be hard, and then dust.
My family with a history that is easy to ignore, and important only to the curiosity within those that share it.
I love Angelina, more profoundly than I do any other. Her words are few, but they are pronounced with real emotion. They sound as if they were invented for her. Not a syllable is wasted, or dropped.
This child should be mine. Her head should rest on my shoulder. My lullabies should be the ones she listens to, before she is taken away by exhaustion.
It is still dark out. Let me see my way out of this. I want to fall and rise again. Let me see my way out of this. I want to be a lovely neighbor. Let me see my way out of this. I would like good china. Let me see my way out of this. I would like a pair of shoes, that aren’t falling to pieces. Let me see my way out of this.