The Petals Lead Them Home by Isabel Montemayor

If you listen, you can hear their steps

their feet touching the cempasuchil petals

as they follow the light.

The wind blowing at night

is not wind at all.

Ese aire, ese olor a perfume,

that flickering flame,

from the candle you see,

are how we know they are presente.

As real as the pan dulce we offer are

my abuela, her abuela, their tatarabuelas

and all the almas of those

who have gone before us.

On these nights we celebrate their life

and their journey back

to the hearth and familia.

They will dance to Cuco Sanchez.

They will sip coca-cola.

They will dine on mole y arroz.

They will play their bajo sextos.

And we will feel them with us,

as though theyve never gone

These recuerdos will be with us always

En este, el dia de los muertos.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *