You Did, This May
With Those Hands You Did
When still in nineties,
in that tiny shoe box room
I used to start up every day
with music, such as this, as loud as I possibly could;
just until before the storm.
On days that made you nervous and upset,
while watching TV, sitting just outside that door
on L shaped sofa in brownish gray,
I wondered why and how, but I did now know,
of strength, you have been endowed with,
that kept you up, and peasant’s root, and fire;
until the very day of your departure.
Now, I can dedicate that time to you, dear mine,
mine yours, be well and strong, a last salute, forever.
Forever is just not enough, oh, for damned the pleasure.
Thus I will never know of what we have been given
endowed, with that same root, in screams, and pain,
but will carry it all the way, along each day, until the 7th.
You did this May, the 25th.