Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Dia de los Muertos.

On Dia de los Muertos,
Amy and Emily and I
got Mexican food
and Jarritos
and ate in the cemetery.

We spread out our blanket near a tree
next to Henrick and Bodel Jensen.

And as we sat down,
I felt instinctively
that the Jensens were glad
that we had come to visit them.

It was chilly.
We ate and talked
and took pictures.

Piña, Toronja, y Limón

I read a poem out loud.

And then I looked around
and thought,
When you die,
they'll put your name
and some dates
on a stone.

And somehow
that feels like a fitting reward
for having lived a life.
.
.
.
Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
"Will he prevail?"
"Surely," replied the other;
"His grandfathers beat them many times."
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers--
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.
Stephen Crane

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