Día de Muertos

Years before she had said that I should attend    
The Day of the Dead      
She assured that is was not voodoo witchcraft      
But a festival to remember the dead      
She thought it would be a good opportunity      
For me to take photographs of the participants      
With painted faces and sugar skulls everywhere      
Altars where prayers written on slips of paper      
For deceased family and friends      
Were burned in happy remembrance      
Though time had slipped away and years passed      
We had grown apart, lost touch      
I decided finally this year I would attend      
In hope of just maybe seeing her there      
I arrived a little late to find good parking      
It was crowed and day was quickly turning to night      
I followed a steady stream of people to the festivities      
Which filled streets and in between buildings and in parking lots      
I was a bit self-conscious in my attire      
A black blazer with ruffles and flourishes      
Spanish flamenco pants,  pointy-toed Cuban heeled shoes      
A tuxedo shirt with pleated front bib      
A black ribbon for a tie made in a narrow bow      
White face paint with black dots and swirling decorated lines      
And on top I wore a black bolero hat      
I came to a courtyard and surveyed the crowd      
They were busy like a honeycomb      
Nothing      
Then just a glimpse, could it be?      
Maybe      
Yes, I recognized her auburn hair      
In spite of her painted face      
It was her      
I eased into the shadows and watched her there      
Talking and laughing      
Her carefree spirit and gypsy smile      
She was still enchanting      
I hatched a plan      
Looked around then approached a handsome young man      
I presented him my red bandana      
And told him of my scheme as he began to fold      
The bandana first a triangle then fold after fold      
Until a long strip      
I pointed her out and he shook his head in agreement      
As he made his way towards her      
I eased through the edge of the crowd      
He stopped directly in front of her as I lurked unseen nearby      
He held his hands up displaying the blindfold      
And said, Please grant me this wish that others might be blessed      
She did not resist as he pressed the blindfold across her eyes      
Each hand continued its travel past the sides of her head      
And met in the back where he grasped both ends tight with one hand      
As he did so he stepped to her side      
So I could take his place in front of her      
I emerged and placed a hand on her neck      
Leaned forward pressing my lips against hers      
It was a gentle yet passionate kiss      
Like accidently touching a live wire      
It sent a tingle through our bodies      
All too quickly it was over
I darted back into the crowd      
As he continued passed her letting go of one end of the bandana      
Which slithered across her face like a serpent      
Releasing her eyes back to the now dim light      
He walked some distance from her before briefly stopping      
Then turned to look back at her      
Their eyes met and he shook his head "no"      
And smiled because she had been deceived      
Then he disappeared melting into the throng      
She smiled because she had been kissed      
And stood there a long moment trying to find meaning      
In what had just happened to her      
As I wove my way in the opposite direction through the revelers        
I smiled because I had kissed the gypsy queen      
And even now whenever I remember my stolen kiss      
A wish granted to a stranger      
That I might be blessed      
I still smile because as I learned that Día de Muertos,      
Even the dead can make us smile      
When they return to visit us      
In sweet memory