Ned Balbo

Millions of monarchs (clouds in late October

tumbling out of the north, the souls of the dead)

                        arrive for Día de los Muertos,

                                    hovering close,

            tangelo-orange, presaging change—

What power urges them homeward? A time they remember—

Deaths in procession, lit candles, the ghost masquerade,

            births etched in the ledgers of loss,

                                    blood for the Cross

            or a cause... Above, metallic and strange,

a rabble of wings fills the sky… Monarchs set free—

The fluttering soul, whose neighbors—strolling, skull-painted—

                       pass and ignore her; the wanderer,

                                  soldier, or father,

             regal or real, circling in rings—

Is it you we feel brushing our skin? Who will we be—

wounded, lighter than air, forgiven or sainted?       

                        The tumult of monarchs is here,

                                    the wingstorm, the brushfire     

             of memory: black-laced, ablaze in their blessings,

              in praise, they return…The clouds, closing in,

                        bear them along, and they burn.

Note: See “Wonders of Mexico: Day of the Dead and Monarch Butterflies” (original PBS airdate: August 8, 2018).