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This is the month of remembry and rebirth. I’m blessed to be from a culture that celebrates life and death, that understand that to live life, one must remember death, an odd dichotomy to some. Like all co-opted culturas, Dia de los Muetros has rapidly become a linty of cool calendars, tote bags, mugs, t-shirts and tattoo designs stolen by Ed Hardy. (http://www.edhardysell.com/)
But for me, it’s an intimate event. I think of my father, dead at 32, of my grandparents, all three dead before the age of 60.
I think about my sister-in-law and her excruciating cancer battle. I think of Lau’s father that will soon pass, of the hundreds that pass on a steel tables, unidentified, of the one’s lost while crossing bordered into other lands. For them, I dedicate two poems from my manuscript, from the “Walls” Series. With respect, love and devotion, I remmber you. Tlazocamatli...
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Wall #5 (or After Silence)
“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.” -Aldous Huxley
drip drip drop into
a tower of plates cup pots
Doggy Doggy rests
under sparse shade of the lemon tree
bowl dry
but baby builds a wall with legos
kicks it over with a tonka truck
captain crunch cereal from the tv
“collect them all- in specially marked boxes, NOW!”
the garage door is open
plywood table and a jar
of washers bolts nuts
but dad tapes over copper wires
exposed under the orange cord-
baby might touch it
radio la que buena waves in and out of tune
“para llevar, a mi amor..a. voy a buscar,
un rinconcito en el cielo"
but mom sleeps now, a long night
after the chemotherapy-
it has spread to the cortex.
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Wall #7 (or Perspective Exercise)
“Death froze his exhausted face. The attackers lashed or punctured nearly every part of his body... As with most murders in Ciudad Juárez, police found no witnesses, no weapons. Only the battered corpse on the steel coroner's table carries clues to who he was and how he died.” -Julie Watson, Associated Press Writer, March 8, 2009
under the circular
light above, a praying mantis’
arm, he lies on the table, toe peeking out the white
arm, he lies on the table, toe peeking out the white
sheet, a cream colored tag, brown ring
string tied to bulging pinky toe.
she cries more when he’s
wheeled back to a wall
of small chrome doors.
[i don’t know
how to
write
a poem from this
if is should...]
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(Borgia Codex image showing duality. Photos for Dia de los Muertos: Day of the Dead)