right hand pointing

The chilled cemetery air

is fragrant with mole negro,

tamales, pan de los muertos,

and burning incense.  Darkness

is falling on paths aglow

with marigolds and candles.

Glasses of pulque and tequila

clink in deferent toasts.

It is 6 p.m., and the bells

begin to ring to summon

the sacred spirits.  A bonfire

lifts burning cinders to the sky.

At Clemente’s grave, the cross

and kneeling countenances

of Irene and Helga cast

trembling shadows.  In time,

Clemente’s spirit will join them,

so palpable it could easily

be mistaken for the wind.