I found this article in a magazine while I was flying to Mexico City in 2004. My heart feels that
my beloved Hernan is talking to me through it.
Most of what this article says, my son and I shared when he was with me. He loved my
tamales, we both love yellow flowers, the copal, candles......... I miss you mijito...............
my beloved Hernan is talking to me through it.
Most of what this article says, my son and I shared when he was with me. He loved my
tamales, we both love yellow flowers, the copal, candles......... I miss you mijito...............
| The silence of the earth draws me in and I am reduced to nothing. But I remember you. I want to return, even if it’s just for one night, I want to recognize myself in your memories. My portrait is turned to the wall, so you can only see me in a mirror, so you remember I am gone, but never stop thinking of me. Silently I await the intense yellow of the flower that used to cure and whose petals now lead me to your door; I recognize the scent of copal, the water I drink after my wanderings, the flame of the candle that lights the way, and the salt to purify that which I now am, soul, a body in the earth, bones stripped bare. A large sugar skull for the Lord our God; a medium one for Death, the eternal force that drove us apart. The mat you enroll for me to rest on, your soft voice that reaches me from the kitchen, the smell of tamales. I miss you. That’s why I’ve come, to remind you that I’m waiting here for you. |
| My child Hernan at the altar of our deceased for the "Day of the Death." |
