Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Looking Back He broke into our room and laid on my bed as if he were dead, bald angel blocking and shaping the fragile light.  I said: gently , then he clambered on top of me.  Disoriented by the softness of his lips and the mental image of his empty bed, I couldn’t believe this was happening, so I started to talk.  That did not please him. He got up and buried himself in his bed.  I had made him uncomfortable. Perhaps, he thought I was afraid he’d have an epileptic attack .  My world pyramided with grape baskets leaning like the sea to my hands.