Mesilleros bury their poorest without names,
with una cruz de madera.
No hablo español bien, pero
intento.

We are in the cementerio de Mesilla,
and we bring chocolate from
The Chocolate Lady and una cafe,
our ofrenda
and we sit under the sun by
Señor Guitterez, pretending to
love Muerte,

but dear God, I am scared because this all
is sorrowfully
beautiful,
and I wear flowers in my hair
because we do not live long enough