The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2009

Day of the Dead

Their voices

call from the ground,

bones rise again into the air,

dust weaves through eye sockets

and pelvic bones.

We offer them sugar candy,

sweet fruits,

scent of flowers.

They linger

at the front door,

float through windows,

lurk down hallways,

inhale candle fumes.

Lights blink on and off.

Through rooms they wander

drag a table, chairs,

across waxed floors.

They are all here,

bridge of beating pulse,

arc of blood,

to share the dark miracle.

Lara Gularte