Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

The Cleansing He thought about funeral pyres  as he soaped her hair, the many times they had  played with shampoo only to end-up in bed.  Today it was different, her hands  were cold and her chest  had started to stiffen. Two flocks of pigeons  flying in different directions crossed each other  in the sky as bells  atop the churches tolled. He watched them through  the bedroom window in silence  and waited for the sun to finish going down before  drying  her cold feet.