It’s About Altares
Photo by Tania Victoria / Secretariat of Culture of Mexico City via Flickr DREAMing Out Loud: Voices of Migrant Writers, is a PEN America workshop series for young undocumented and migrant writers. This week we excerpt an anthology of their work.
I would look at the band. I would spin a little more and look up at Claudis, jamming hard to herself on the inside. My gaze on Jorge, mid-twirl. He was laughing out loud unas carcajadas. It was 2019, Día de los Muertos. The static was distracting me so much that I could not let go and “trip out.” Something was telling me, Enjoy this now. Next year is far away. Long. And you just won’t be here. My gaze panned over to the stage, my friends, and the altar. Ancient cumbia currents jolting my sangre. ¡Pónle y dale shine! A deep inhale for mota-vation. It all of a sudden hit me. The idea came right in through the top of my head. A cacophony of inexplicable phantom chatter. I was tense and unsettled even as we Aztec-stomped and twirled like the whirling dervishes spinning amidst floating clouds of copál under luminous beams of hot pink fluorescent light.
The músicos were playing for the Muertos, and we were, but no. There was palpable static, poking me on the shoulder. It was like the TV static from the movie .
