A poem inspired by the spanish holiday Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead).
To whom did you belong?
Whose family are yours?
To whom have you come seeking?
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!
But, as I stare and wonder,
I want to know. Why?
Why so familiar?
Your name, your face, your image,
haunting familiarity echoed back.
a forgotten shadow of someone,
now just a memory.
Something that remained hidden, waiting,
lurking in the shades of gray.
A melody that still lingers on
just beyond reach.
Dressed in vintage style,
old fashioned hat and brightly colored
Face pale and painted bright
in sugar skull style.
With crude cross and halo marks on your
forehead, swirls and flower
patterns and dots lined around your eyes,
cheeks and chin, stitch-style lines
marked your lips.
The more we stared at eachother
through the street lights and opposite
ends of the intesectioned street
I could not find the candle or
thought to light your name
or your memory.
So still I wondered and wandered,
walking and watching
with a vision of you, stuck in my head,
more questions than answers
echoing in my head.
where did you go?
Where have you gone?
The earth it seemed to shatter,
as the candle's flame flickered on
lighting the candles of thought
your name upon my memory
and even my heart.
My dear the end came for you,
eleven years, six months ago.
You were my granny then,
are you still my granny?
No, I won't question things,
you're still my granny.
But to others who'd seen your form,
you were no granny, not my granny either.
labeled La Calavera de la Catherine.
Or Catherine of the dead.
I met you again, your visage a dame of the dead,
in your youthful form of former years gone bye.
To others here an un-known calavera,
another dame of the dead, another piece
of a larger stitched, roughly together piece,
of a puzzle.
Si, you're just another.
Elegant lady of yester year,
of un-known origin.
Who joins the living again,
in the dances and festivities.
Of laughing in celebration, and,
mocking death in front of his face.
La Calavera de la Catherine,
Catherine of the dead.
though its all the same,
you're still the same
you're Granny to me.