St. Death
Santa Muerte is not enclosed
behind the grill
of a roadside shrine on the border
but like a descansos
might be
anywhere, everywhere, a corner
even in the automatic
thumbed cross
of gangsters’ mouths
or those who die
with chapped prayers on their lips
or those who curse
saying: fuck this
or those tethered
to the morphine drip
a calavera
printed on a scarf, socks
a sugar cookie
I think of you—
and you—and you
the increasing crew
of my beloved
half-remembered dead
and lean on my cane
on the snowy path
in the Chiricahuas
and think about nothing but
lichen on rock
and time’s lovely
gnarled driftwood.
***
Patagonia, AZ
Miriam's Well: Poetry, Land Art, and Beyond 
These words speak to me:
I think of you—
and you—and you
the increasing crew
of my beloved
half-remembered dead
They are, indeed, increasing.
excuisite poem. you show me the ache of loss in set it in a familiar lanscape for a person such as myself. may they be blessed. may they be blessed. may they be blessed.
Thank you folks! My dad just died–this isn’t exactly a memorial, but I’m so glad the feeling comes through.
I’m so sorry, Miriam. I give you thoughts of peace for the future.
Thanks Meg–I know you know.
Wow…..remarkable poem, Miriam. Jan and I send heartfelt condolences. We wish you and your family all the best.
Thanks to you & Jan. Look forward to seeing you later this month!
Thinking of you with love, Miriam. Fondly, Laura
Laura–much appreciated.
Full moon creates portal
For escape
To the next level
Lovely!
So sorry for your loss. -Audrey
Thank you, dear heart.
Dear Miriam,
I’m sorry to hear about your father. As far as I can tell,nothing makes better, much less any words I might offer. But I send my sympathy and my cariño.
And this poem is a fine gift to the world in his name. It speaks to me of the landscape here, the desperate people who pass through, those who light candles to Santa Muerte.
Hi Donna–I was in remote corners of Arizona much of X-mas week–a landscape my dad taught me to love when I was a child/young teenager. I was writing about exactly what you describe, and uncannily it fits much of my family history in a very different part of the world–Ukrainian borderlands which was full of smugglers (of both people and contraband) and gangsterism–but that is another poem.
love,
Mir
Miriam, exquisite! I wish I had known you were here!