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Marigolds
Each spring, Helga
plants their seeds
in terra cotta pots so,
when the nights turn cold,
she can move them
inside the dugout.
As she carries them
to their place in the sun,
they tremble
so thick with orange
and yellow blooms
she can’t see their stems.
In hours, like torches
of orange and yellow flame,
they will light the way
for the spirits of the dead
to their gravesites,
redolent with fresh food
and the warm embraces
of those they left behind.
Larry D. Thomas
Los Días de los Muertos
(Big Bend area, far West Texas)
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