Written by @loretosocorro
Her feet were mute because of the pain, which beat inside and outside her chest like nailed crystals. She jumped onto the clover blanket and, lying face down, remained still under an old string. The long leaves and the dry python grew stronger as she breathed in her scent, the scent of a girl with desire, the scent of illusion. It was a mixture of cream caramel with salty donuts and old person's kisses.
The roots of the plant wanted to come out and embrace her.
During the afternoon the sap of the fleshiest leaves added words. The pita sweated those words to the trade wind. She tried very hard. No more flowers would grow from that old pita, but other plants found out about María's sorrow and blew arrorós as sweet as gofio nougat with almonds.
The girl woke up at the same time as the stars, surrounded by scented pitas. She didn't know how, but since then she listens to gatherings of bushes and trees, heals trunks and branches with caresses and calms hearts about to explode with cups of stewed water.
