A year ago I was just starting my life here at UUFH. I was anxious to meet all of you, but you brought me into your community, your family, and made me feel welcome. And for that I cannot thank you enough. What a wild ride this last year has been, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. You all, and especially your kids have become my friends and I can’t wait to see how we all grow in this next year as individuals, and as a community.
But as the days grow shorter, the nights longer, and the veil between the worlds thins, let us remember, and celebrate the lives of those whose no longer walk the path beside us, in this world. May they live on in our memories.
We danced on his grave. My grandfather loved mangos. Towards the end, like a child, he would steal into my grandmother’s purse and squirrel away his prize. I imagine him, now, that child again. His mischievous innocence Covered in dusty adventure And scabs of conquered fears. to this day we don’t know how, he did it - snuck away. But there he’d be, back in his spot in the sun. You’d think he never left if not for a mango; And that mischievous gleam. I brush the leaves away And trace your name in the moonlight. Slowly. I rise. Others have come, Children: shrieking: high on sugar skulls and disregarded bedtimes.
Fathers: in groups: setting up the ofrendas trading Marlboros and gossip. Mothers: always last: bearing mountainous platters of faith, tradition, superstition, and more than a few tamales. Music begins to play Maracas and Vihuelas accompany the tenor of the wind I see my grandmother approach. The weight of so much life Making her slow. I wait. She shuffles around in her purse and palms me the pesos she still keeps for him there. I hug her frail body to mine, And kiss her vellum cheek. I reach for the bag, prostrate at your feet, Full to bursting with mangos. - We ate, and we cried, as we danced on his grave. Eyes alive with memory.