Cuata
All my life they called me Cuata. But I was the only one born whole. Mi hermano, Juan, never breathed. But I heard him cry. I read stories to his empty chair. And I felt him there. I pushed an empty swing and sang his favorite songs. I planted spiky cactus so he could watch them grow.
My family went to mass and prayed the rosary on his birthday every year. Forgot it was mine, too. At 15, I ate two chiles because he couldn’t. I lit his chair on fire and sang goodbye to rising smoke. Me llamo Chantico.
Photo Credit: Matthias Weinberger
Loved this
Such a beautiful piece.
Stunning. Thank you.
The desert sings in your story.
I almost cried 😭😭 Beautiful story
So cute!!😘
So impacting. Thanks for sharing.