Today is Día de los Muertos. I took the children to visit Father Bill.
As usual we shared chocolate and pan de muerto. We poured a lot of
chocolate on his piece of bread and the ground around his grave
swallowed greedily. We could have poured a river. When father Bill
died a river, each tear like no other. I cried for each sister and brother,
for the ones who were children and for the ones who were grown. I
cried for me. I cried for you. I cried for my children, for things they
know nothing about. War leaves no time for grieving. My right to
mourn came with Father’s Bill’s fall. At first glance the US and El
Salvador have nothing in common. Then time revealed the violence of
poverty, the violence of drugs, the violence of guns and like Monseñor
said, the violence of love.
From This City (Floating Bridge Press, 2016). Copyright © 2016 by Claudia Castro Luna. Used with the permission of the author.