What the Catrina Said…

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“They don’t know me, but they always insist they’ve seen me somewhere before. They ask my father’s name, where I grew up, if I worked in a small town, at a corner store, a school, or hospital, somewhere helping people get somewhere else.

They say they know me as certainly as they once knew the Periodic Table, the names of local plants and birds, and the title of that piece of music by that composer they once heard.

They always think they know girls like me, girls with, they say, enchanting eyes. Girls like me appear to listen and impress—not with tales of our own colorful adventures—with our mysterious, cosmic silence.”

Zocalo Ofrendas

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This is November 1, All Saint’s Day in Mexico City, and the zocalo is filled with the colors and scents that accompany the celebration of Dia de Los Muertos. Copal incense is wafting in the air, and yellow and purple flowers are ubiquitous. The Federal District has sixteen regions, and each of the regions has presented an elaborate ofrenda, altar, for visitors to see. There are skeletons, skulls, and foods of the region. There are depictions of the dead dancing, smoking, wearing wedding attire, rising from a grave, and eating potato chips. The dead are reveling all around us.

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