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Cathy Barber Marigolds Stamen and pistil, male and female, at the center. Petal variations from gold-tipped maroon to snazzy yellow, from a measured number to dense pompom clusters of packed papery shreds— pumpkin-orange pillows dip in the wind, and rally like determined scarecrows, be it stark sunshine or the pickled black of night. Dia de los Muertos, Mexican marigolds guide ancestors home to visit family altars piled high with sweet bread, oranges, candles, to view their portraits, taken two, three, forty years ago, to accept offerings and celebrate life. They bring the Monarchs, the souls, this year, next, and every migration, orange on the altars, orange in the sky, watch them hover and land. |