The colors are fading. Window spies are always watching. Life is changing. A paper plane flown from a prison window tells me so.
The simple life, the simple pleasures: sandcastles, seashells, siesta, carnivals, carousels, cotton candy, piñatas, and parasols are a thing of the past. Once vibrant concrete cities are now concrete deserts. Red flutters in the wind, with foreign faces I don't know. How can a perfect, cloudless blue sky be so gray and dark? Mami calls it a red sky.
© Dania Herrera Nasca
May 28, 2025
