Día de los Muertos, Oaxaca

“The cemetery in Oaxaca on November 2nd. Every grave a garden. Cempasúchil marigolds on every surface — the petals make paths from the road to the graves so the dead can find their way home. Candles flicker in hundreds. Families eating at gravesides like it's Sunday dinner because it is. Abuelita's photo on the ofrenda, her favorite mole beside it. Someone plays guitar. A child runs between the graves laughing and nobody tells him to be quiet. Copal smoke rises. Mezcal passed around — a sip for you, a splash on the ground for them. Death sits down to eat with you. It's not scary. It's Tuesday.”