Fifteen women bury their men.
Is it their brother, their cousin, a regular lover, or a first love?
We do not know. They weep for nothing. For pride, one thinks one is present at the funeral of a hidalgo. For the black, one evokes the procession of a Sicilian godfather.
We say that it is perhaps a celebration of the dead taking place somewhere in Mexico …
Who are these mourners in sky, velvet goat, and river snake?
What are their names?
They wear huge piercings to their ears, chains on their shoulders and around their necks.
Their belts are cartridge belts. They are dressed sometimes, but they would be believed in armor.
These women are not dolls, gentlemen, they are more to be feared than to protect.
“The king is dead,” they said, “long live the queens! “.
