I make skeletons dance

on the Day of the Dead


I pull a few strings

and little children


hide behind their mother's skirts

one eye peering around


from behind a pleat

the air is thin as tissue on this day


when the departed return

or rather they are here all around us


but visible to sensitive vision

and what may be a breeze or an arm in passing


shakes the sceptic who jumps the way

I make toy skeletons dance...




Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito.