On The Day of The Dead
written by: Kenneth Salzmann
This is the day we welcome the not-yet-dead.
They come to our crypts or graves to bury us
beneath armfuls of marigolds, to dine with us
on candied pumpkin, pan de muerto, sugar
skulls, jars of atole. They make a resting place
of the cold, packed earth at the base of flowery
ofrendas. With copal incense and seashell rattles,
with Catrinas and calaveras said to honor us,
the living-still struggle to carve in stone or custom
a wedge between themselves and us.
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