She
My daughter is afraid to enter the room when the afternoon shadows left on the windows. She is there in the picture sepia. My great grandmother Mary
nobody taught to smile. Majestic, based on the blackened wooden chair, hair tight in a bun, dark tendrils holidays as the rest of the outfit. Sad, silent, serious, her eyes following.
She delivered two daughters and they, in turn, two each.
My grandmother was in her trousseau a photograph of the matriarch, constrained by inheritance to be the biggest. On the headboard of the bed stood majestic presence, watching everything.
When my mother, the eldest, married, became the owner of the portrait and he presided over the dining room. I never get used to the bitter aftertaste left his presence in the desktop.
I ate little and raised weak as a reed, yet I was able to perpetuate the species giving birth to two other women as usual in the family branch.
I could not refuse when the time came, I had to pick up the baton and give a prominent place in the hall at the unsmiling lady who ran our destiny.
My daughter will be the next to enjoy the estate if I die commitment, but I will resist to release
load ... I heard my granddaughter told her mother: "Grandma dotage, has filled room-
faded butterflies are hungry. I calculated what the moths take swallow the rictus of grief and great-grandmother Mary. Exactly the hours until till dawn.
Tomorrow we will all be a happy poor disinherited without walls where fears hammer hooks for hanging.
