Stories of Lotería

The rain persisted. Winter had brought, it seemed, an endless stream of water no one was prepared for, leading eventually to busted dams, overflowing rivers, collapsed roads, and uprooted foundations. Weather conditions mirrored the political climate in so much as torrential opposition increased and all that hope and faith is built on was buckling beneath insurmountable pressure. Tiempo de Aguas , is what my grandma had referred to once when sharing her stories - a time of great rains that brought with it a sense of reckoning. I listened to the beat of the drops, waiting for sleep to come. A humming serenade hitting my roof. A tinny drip-drip-drip syncopation falling from the awning to the medal garden-turtle below. Fatter base-line plops landing carelessly in the water-filled planter closest to my bedroom window. I let the rain spill into my sleep. I awoke to quiet radiance. No more rain, but a sunlight stretched so far it was white, not yellow. My bed wavered beneath me, a gent