Why do they not see what I see so easily: memories?
My father’s ironed white shirt neatly kept on the bed
Why does she wear it instead?
The little boy beside her is my grandson.
I watch him grow. He knows about
the stars in the Milky Way! I tell him about the million
dots spray-painted on the dark canvas of Time.
Time it was that I thought I had with you,
Which now refuses to be reversed.
I miss the fights, the lazy summer sunsets.
Come, let my fingers interlock with yours
and not worry anymore, cause our children have grown.
Another face emerges from yours, and I lose you once again.
Some I know, others repeat they know me.
And then they all fade to a white — brighter than a thousand galaxies
My daughter brings a cup of coffee, and I wonder how it tastes
Bitter and flavorful, she insists — I love drinking it.
Like my life, I wonder — bitter and flavorful.
Living on both sides, not belonging to any.
Torn between what vanishes when I want to touch,
And what stays, holding my hand,
telling me to be strong.
Did I finally reverse time?
