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Thursday, November 07, 2002 Dia de los Muertos 
I went to the South on the Day of the Dead. The sun was a black rose
in a turquoise sky, my eyes hollow sockets, my bones rattling as I
walked. All this felt familiar. The village children screamed in
fright and ran away. They are so beautiful, I thought, but I
understood their fear. The women though, some of them, would come out
to greet me, weave flowers through my ribcage, around my hips, which
they would kiss with great longing, remembering love. And the men,
some of them, would take off their hats, cast their eyes down. My
heart went out to them. Why only now do we see, I wondered, blessing
as best I could our blindness. I was looking for you there, a sudden
memory from another time. The day faded into night but I could see
everything for miles. Coyotes and scorpions came to me out of the
desert and sat around me in a circle. I sat down too. There was
nowhere to go. I wept. Waiting for you as I have always waited,
knowing you will never come.
2:40 PM | link | 
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