Gray clouds enshroud the sky.
Pedestrians cloaked in black
speak of death
to my Caribbean spirit.
My soul cries
for sun, and sea,
a red hibiscus,
gaiety.
Hallow-eyed pumpkins, witches, ghosts
tease, stare me down
scream Halloween
from storefront displays--
the pagans
mourning
the demise of summer
evoking their dead.
And I remember my forebears.
Too far away to lay wreaths at their graves
I spill rum over my shoulder
east, west, north and south.
They guide me in this far land
where children’s joyous shrieks
at the Autumn fair
lighten the burden of dismal meditation.
A quiet voice
reaching beyond the clamor
whispers
a well-known secret.
I am my descendents
my children too,
and the laughter I hear
Is the laughter of all our ancestors.
@ Althea Romeo-Mark
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