Kenneth Salzmann Verse-Virtual 2016 October

October 2016

After a career divided between working in the arts and working for newspapers, I have arrived at a point where I can spend more time on my own creative work. While I’ve always written and published poetry, I’ve certainly never been as prolific before, and it has never been my primary pursuit before. These days, I live part of the year in Woodstock, New York, and part of the year in a magical pueblo in Mexico.

Note: Much has been written about the ways the living observe Día de Muertos, but I wondered how the others sharing the holiday—the dead—experience it.

On the Day of the Dead

This is the day we welcome the not-yet-dead.
They come to our crypts or graves to bury us
beneath armfuls of marigolds, to dine with us
on candied pumpkin, pan de muerto, sugar
skulls, jars of atole. They make a resting place
of the cold, packed earth at the base of flowery
ofrendas. With copal incense and seashell rattles,
with Catrinas and calaveras said to honor us,
the living-still struggle to carve in stone or custom
a wedge between themselves and us.