Work Text:
it's hard to keep secrets in Casita,
superhuman hearing or no.
sometimes they're all we have, all that's left
of a life long over.
sometimes they're a product of fear,
that snarling, twisting, howling feeling of
what could go wrong. so we push them down,
burying burying, and laying over the remains.
sometimes they thrive beneath the surface,
growing expanding heaving
knocking rocking against the boat until the murky waters
overtake it completely, leaving nothing except
an empty vessel
where once there was a person.
all this to say:
Dolores hears the first snip and is off
like a shot in the dark,
hurrying hurrying never quite running
down the halls, slipping into Isabela's room.
from on the floor Isabela sits--surrounded by flowers
wilted, dying, suffocating--
and looks up at her cousin, face softening,
though her grip on the scissors tightens.
Dolores says nothing, coming to sit behind Isabela,
wrapping her in a hug, waiting.
and the flowers
they don't quite regain their colour, but they do perk up
even just a bit.