The House of the Spirits Resides Inside Me
A crocodile skull with empty eye sockets and dagger teeth grins ghoulishly at us amidst flip flops, plastic sprite bottles and styrofoam peanuts. I drag my nine year old son away from the dead crabs and dried coconut husks towards the penitentiary on Isla Coiba off the Pacific coast of Panamá which once housed murderers,…