What We Remember

Lemon trees soaked in light.
A herder calls.
You sit amidst
Spain’s cracked hills, in olive shade.

No need to talk—
we’ve heard your voice.
Though memory left you, then life,

we carry you:
a notebook,
your old chair,
a crumpled scarf,
your cat at ease,
your famous laugh.

Yes, you may have forgotten—
but we cannot.

From Extremadura
to this quiet room,
you speak
in goat bell tune,
in morning's frost,
in purr, in laugh, in saffron sun—
you are not lost but wandering.

Your grandson spoke
quiet, calm,
and was listened to
as you would have done.

His tender truth,
his thought made whole.
The thanks he offered
echoed by all.