On this Day of the Dead [#5]

On this Day of the Dead

         for my grandmother

What thin line divides us on this Day of the Dead. Me, almost 60, you going on 120. I'm half your age and not quite ready to join you.

Did you think much about dying when you turned 60? My mother 30; me... just one week old. One can always say it was another world, another century; but, then... time passes past all of those who do not move with it. Some stay behind.

Memory erases my image of you: white-haired, soft creases, a smile wrapped in a floral print. There was a golden medallion. An owl? The Messenger of the Dead. He calls me now.

Tonight candles are lit in the memory of thousands. I should light but one. And hope you gather some warmth from the flame. Perchance my other ancestors will gather too. How little we living have to do with the dead. But the dead? Will you light candles to show me the way when I leave this world and join you?

© Kåre Enga [168.191] #5 November 2, 2011

for Teresa Deuel

Note to self, previous version: What thin line divides us on this Day of the Dead. Me, almost 60, you going on 120. I'm half your age and not quite dead.

Did you think much about dying when you turned 60? Me ...just one week old. One can always sat it was another world, another century; but, time passes past all of those who do not move along with it. Some stay behind.

Memory fades my image of you: white-haired, soft creases, a smile in a floral print. There was a golden medallion. An owl? The Messenger of the Dead.

Tonight candles are lit in the memory of thousands. I should light but one. And hope you gather some warmth from the flame. Perchance my other ancestors will gather too. How little we living have to do with the dead. But the dead? Will you light candles for me when I an ready to join you?