Tales From The Boveda

Tales From the Boveda

She wore tight capri pants in summer with high heel sandals to show off her pretty feet and red toe nails. She jiggled when she walked, laden with charms, bangle braclets and earrings. She was a domino reader and a saint maker.

Oz operated the neighborhood ghost laundry way back when white folks didn't know one thing about what was going on up in Spanish Harlem, and Desi Arnaz was just a pretty boy looking for a date. A bit eclectic, she did some spot cleanings with police whistles or Chinese firecrackers, but when Earth Signs said the whole street had to be done, she quickly prepared a big pot of coconut soup to bathe in.

Deja vu was her signal to put on the appliquéd cinnamon gown with imported Nubti beads, wrapping her head with the same fabric. Under her dress she wore five ruffled pineapple yellow satin slips with pockets for her best amulets, on her feet peau de soie pumps dyed parsley green. Carmen Miranda would haven eaten all those bananas on her head to mambo like Oz when she called the coral wind and the thunder god followed to drum for those two girlfriends dancing.

All the darkness would fly out of open windows, down steps from attics, out of closets, basements, from under beds and garbage bins. Some wicked minded people would just start to run never to be seen in the area again, blown out to the East River by Oz with the help of her invisible friends.