The House on Mango Street

Aunt Lupe used to be a swimmer. But because of some kind of disease, she was disabled. Her body couldn't move. She lived on the second floor. There was always a naked bulb burning in her house. The pillow was yellow, the smell was yellow and the spoon and the bottle.

There was one thing I was ashamed of. Because of this, I thought I would go to hell when I died. It was a game that we chose one man that every one know to imitate and others guess who he was. At the begining, we chose famous people. Later, we changed the game a little bit. We chose the person we knew in our daily life.  And we picked her.

We liked her. She always invited us to visit her. Sometimes I read books from library. Sometimes I read my own poem. She said it was great. She was blind. She never saw the dirty dishes in the sink. She never saw the ashes on the ceiling. I didn't know she was so sick until one day I wanted to look at one of beautiful pictures.

We imitate her with heads thrown back, arms limb and useless. We imitated the way she talked like blind people without moving head. We imitated the way she drank water.  We had to move her head so that she could suck water out of a tin cup. We took turnd being her. We laughed so hard.

Then she died, our aut who loved my poems.