Today's poem is by Brenda Sieczkowski
Día de los Muertos
Overnight, the jack-o-lanterns have deflated: wrinkles, fallen gums.
At the pasteleria, the man studies the last name on my credit card.
My neighbors, they are from your country, he says.
But I have none.
He wraps the Pan de Muertos in a wax bag.
Every leaf that skitters across my path is a withered hand: brittle, curious.
Marigold: cruelty, jealousy
A line falls out from the slim red book of poems I carry.
Your hands were blooded bloom ...
Love, I've built a skyscraper of empty rooms.
At the Cathedral, red and blue votives flicker at the washed feet of saints.
¡O Señora, toma a esto mi corazón de plata!
Low candles pop and sputter.
Threads of smoke ascend, the strings of invisible balloons.
Love, you are the dark cut into memory.
Small, distant, as the sparrow's eye.
Copyright © 2014 Brenda Sieczkowski All rights reserved
from Like Oysters Observing the Sun
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Weekly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Copyright © 2002-2014 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002-2014 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved