Dia de los Muertos


by Sharon H. Smith Lupe kneels on the cool red-tiled patio floor loosening orange petals, divining a journey of flowers out her door, out of her courtyard, out the front gate. Debemos de guiara los espíritus. The air warm, pungent. Smoke lingering from last night’s mesquite fire. Lupe, her husband, and their two young girls …

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