Dia de Muertos

In a geriatric garden room

dozing with the nearly dead

we hull one hundred pumpkin pips.

The knife slides through the orange flesh

we carve the nose, a spooky face,

our spectators sit transfixed.

My entertaining ten year old

holds the prize aloft and captivates

the crowd, his cheeks burning.

As he charms them, I can only think

maybe he will relive this scene

one day with his own offspring.

And I will watch them, half alive

half of me already on the other side

as outside, autumn leaves fall.

Cake eaten and tea drunk

it’s time to hug my gran goodbye,

as we do, her eyes dull.

(Oct 2013 Dedicated to my wonderful granny x)

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