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That's nice。 That's very good； she said in her tired voice。 You just remember to keep writing； Esperanza。 You must keep writing。 It will keep you free； and I said yes； but at that time I didn't know what she meant。
The day we played the game； we didn't know she was going to die。 We pretended with our heads thrown back； our arms limp and useless； dangling like the dead。 We laughed the way she did。 We talked the way she talked； the way blind people talk without moving their head。 We imitated the way you had to lift her head a little so she could drink water； she sucked it up slow out of a green tin cup。 The water was warm and tasted like metal。 Lucy laughed。 Rachel too。 We took turns being her。 We screamed in the weak voice of a parrot for Totchy to e and wash those dishes。 It was easy。
We didn't know。 She had been dying such a long time； we forgot。 Maybe she was ashamed。 Maybe she was embarrassed it took so many years。 The kids who wanted to be kids instead of washing dishes and ironing their papa's shirts； and the husband who wanted a wife again。
And then she died； my aunt who listened to my poems。
And then we began to dream the dreams。
閣樓上的流浪者
我想要一所山上的房子，像爸爸工作的地方那樣的花園房。星期日，爸爸的休息日，我們會去那裡。我過去常去。現在不去了。你長大了，就不喜歡和我們一起出去嗎？爸爸說。你傲起來了。蕾妮說。我沒告訴他們我很羞愧——我們一幫人全都盯著那裡的窗戶，像飢餓的人。我厭倦了盯著我不能擁有的東西。如果我們贏了彩票……媽媽才開口，我就不要聽了。
那些住在山上、睡得靠星星如此近的人，他們忘記了我們這些住在地面上的人。他們根本不朝下看，除非為了體會住在山上的心滿意足。上星期的垃圾，對老鼠的恐懼，這些與他們無關。夜晚來臨，沒什麼驚擾他們的夢，除了風。
有一天我要擁有自己的房子，可我不會忘記我是誰我從哪裡來。路過的流浪者會問，我可以進來嗎？我會把他們領上閣樓，請他們住下來，因為我知道沒有房子的滋味。
有些日子裡，晚飯後，我和朋友們坐在火旁。樓上的地板吱呀吱呀響。閣樓上有咕咕噥噥的聲音。
是老鼠嗎？他們會問。
是流浪者。我會回答說。我很開心。
Bums in the Attic
I want a house on a hill like the ones with the gardens where Papa works。 We go on Sundays； Papa's day off。 I used
