She, who joined the tree
She, she who danced at night under the moonlight in the coast
She who created unity upon each wooden branch.
The tree, that´s us!
So big, united, for her, by her
Now what?
Nature, she is,
the one who loves
that´s how he would call her
The gentleman, the husband, the politician, the womaniser, the writer;
but always loving her.
Grandfather.
Can you hear me?
She, who would share her wise emotional thoughts;
“Love goes above everything”
“Everything happens at its perfect time”
“are you happy? that is all that matters in life”
The one who loves.
The one who remembers poems and finds joy in reciting them.
We, we would just stare, listen.
How wonderful, how magnificent, how real. Love.
She, the one who had seven lives, according to dad.
We´ve been preparing. We were preparing
She. Death.
No one can prepare.
A feeling. A broken mirror reflecting the sunlight to my eyes
uncomfortable, my eyes, they hurt
They don´t want to see this story, this narrative. It hurts
but she would not want that
93 years of happiness!
We should not be crying
we should be celebrating under the sunlight
dancing in our coloured bodies
and singing with our gentle pitch:
Long you lived, and forever we will love you.
Grandmother.
