On death, dying, and saying goodbye to the ones we loved, translated…
The Train that Turned the Visiting into a Funeral
I’d, Sat by the Window Seats
As I Usually Had
Gazing Toward the Clouds Outside the Windows
Inside My Heart & My Hands
There Was, Nothing
And All I Could
Was Hold on Tightly to the News I’d, Just Received
Suddenly
The Fog Dissipated in the Air
The World Became, All too Clear
Like a Joke
The Few Snow-White Round Clouds
Popped Out of the Blue Cleared Skies
They’d Gathered to My Passenger Window
Rolled, Turned
Changed in the Lights
The Fuzzy of the White Markings
Despite How the Crevasse Contained Shadows of Gray
The Gold Boundaries Decorated the Outlines
And, there’s No, Sparing of the Uses of the Colors Pink & Light Purple
Those Clouds that Moved Closer
Seemed Like Eyes that Blinked
Even Talking
and this, is where we all end up…
I Couldn’t Help But Inquire:
“Is that You, My Father?”
I’d Forgotten Everything Now
And Only Had a Pair of Eyes that’s Opened Up Wide
With My Jaws, Dropped
Until, Everything Went, Back to Normal
The Fog, the Smog that Always Hovered Over the City Returned Once More
The Skies Grew Dark Again
There Was, that Dead Row of Edifices by the Horizon
that’s Become, the Fences of the World, Far as Our Eyes Can See Now
And so, this is on the poet’s losing his own father to illness, and, the loss of a parent that he will now be, coping with, and the long and winding grieving process that’s going to take him his whole life to get done, because losing someone we love will always hurt like hell…