Kael Moffat
This adobe wall has held up thousands of human skulls topped with candles and knuckle-size candies scratched with human names. Someone's Carlos, another's Maria is alive again tonight because the fishers have come off the water, dropped their nets in the wooden palms of their boats, cut flowers empty of light, and sing loud songs. Orpheo de los angeles. An old lady turns to me, reaches under her cross to her sunburnt breast, points at the picture on the grave of her twelve-year-old daughter (her twenty-year-old ghost) and says, "My Consuala can hear me tonight, can feel my breath, and touch my hands that ache for her."
