Day of the Dead

You’ll be reading this a day or two after the actual Día de Muertos, and perhaps by now you’ve lost any kind of curiosity about what it might mean for the veil between life and death to be thin enough to see through. Today’s draft is inspired by contrasting worlds and moments of longing.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedOn the verge of sleepI move across this veil and back againinhale Palo Santo smoke and taste it like pure oxygen.The landing is what harms me.In my poorly built Ikea chair,space of Zoom meetingspolite conflict of Slack threadsadjusting the microphone on noise-cancelling headphones -- All I really need is to be the kind of personwho can sniff the air for rainstorms,roll in unraked leaves,put a hand in the cold Autumn groundwithout a care for bugs or spiders or worms that settle in the intestines