My Santiago

When she jigged ever so mischievous, to Marley’s “Two Little Birds”, With her sister Louise in my lounge that New Year’s Eve, Not so long ago. And then sitting in my study, In a moment of reverie, My father’s image on my pin-board wall, Speaks to me; He reclines, With family gathered around, In a picture that should have been captured, To pull out and recall.

These pictures tell the stories, Bring back the memories, And make us understand that, living or passed, They are with us, Just as real as they ever were, Each moment, In the pragmatism of dreams and in the cold fantasy of day:

So I place the newly-cut flowers In the water-filled tin containers. And step back for perspective, Standing in front of this piece of dirt, Not a ‘final resting place’, Not at all, Just a place in time,

Where I gather my thoughts, And accept their life in death.