Ka doesn't need much: just a turtle, a rock, the stars above, and the dirt beneath our feet. She smells the metal of the pole: for it has a smell, and the concrete smells too, as do the trees, the rock, the turtle, her skin.
Monday
The Mexican girl with bleached hair admires Emma's baby: she looks so ethnic she says. The sun is surfacing from rain and cascades through the shop windows. She comfortably handles her child on her hip. Her boyfriend wanted brown eyes and brown hair she says but he got a blue-eyed blond. Emma's baby was born with a full head of jet-black hair and a nose like her father's. She has Emma's defiant lip and soft cheeks. She holds on to fingers, uses her feet like hands.
In my dream, I watched R take off white sneakers in the crack of light under the door. He was naked. The cabinet was open. He picked my mother's black-and-gold Sonia Rykiel sweater with the ties at the neck. In August, I gave it to A. My mother is very slim (as A is). A feels hesitant towards designers (that a name lends value).
C's grandfather (hazel-eyed from a town north of Malaga) emigrated to Mexico and at 40 married a beauty of 15. Men killed themselves over her she told C.