Growing up, I
this place nearly never: it was too dark, buried too many
bones, sang of too much death for a spirited soul to appreciate; except on the
day before All Hallows, when with rice, rum, coconut candies, Bachata music and
belly laughs, my life would celebrate my blood.
bare branches rustle
food and song in the graveyard—
to honor the dead
photo by Attila Lisinszky, on Unsplash
- when I was a child, my Halloween season was full of papier-mâché and candies, of decked up crosses surrounded by candles, of the very young listening to the very old tell stories of departed souls. I miss those days… and lately, I have wondered if in my family this kind of celebration will end when I do. Sigh.
for Poets and Storytellers United--Writers’ Pantry #94: Ends and New Beginnings.