We Remember the Dead:
The Altars of Dia de los Muertos
By
Annabel García Torres
The graveyard is packed with the sound of ghostly children’s voices mixed with faint songs and the humming of prayers being said. It’s November first and Day of the Dead has just begun in this small cemetery. We could be located in Mexico, Guatemala or maybe we’re in Peru.
There are so many candles lit it seems more like noon than midnight. The air is a mix of coffee, tamales and mole. Searching through different graves you’re trying to meet up with your family. Suddenly all the smells wind down to just one, your favorite sweet, food or maybe it’s a strong drink. All of a sudden you’re running, all you can see is a row of flowers and there is your mother, a little older but there she is. Finally you make it to…
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