Las Calaveras in the Trees by Gretchen Hill

At night we hear them 
laughing their bony laughs, 
swinging above us 
in the branches, whooping. 
They’re so alive, 
the dead, their delight 
infectious, bright 
lemons of joy 
shimmering with darkness.
Their big hats—oh the finery!— 
in the trees in silk and feathers, 
so inappropriate 
when they were here. 
How people would talk!
But listen, they whisper to us: 
Do it now, do it 
while you can, do the crazy thing. 
Wear the hats, eat 
the lemons, climb to the top 
of the tall tall tree
in all your foolish glory.

error: This content is copyright protected.
%d bloggers like this: