when silence is deafening, i like to put your hand to my mouth, to give it a reason to be so thunderous. i think about crouching under your eyelashes, and wonder if they would shield me from the rain. they say i laugh too loudly, but i retort, isn’t it better than how they don’t laugh at all?
she told me about how in this little town in the middle-of-nowhere-Texas, there are 2 cemeteries. there is one cemetery for the “white” people and a separate one for the hispanic people. her husband is from this little town, and she is from Mexico City. so she asked him once, when we die, do i have to stay over on this other cemetery, or can i stay with you? and he said, since you want to be cremated, i’ll just tuck all of you under my arm right here and you can stay there forever.