First.
There was disbelief.
You, your solid chest, the safest place I know
changed marble cold.
Your pair of big fingered hands,
always delicate and fixing things
turned limp and blue.
I bathed you as you did so many years ago
to my slippery child body, lovingly.
I inhale your scent, hungry and wish I could frame it for infinity
soon, it was too robbed from me
replaced by cold cold hand of death
Second.
There were people.
People smile. People cry. People mourn. People remember.
People ask. How, when, where.
I answer, a wrecked cassette all tangled up inside.
Be strong, they tell.
Be brave, they hearten.
After all, what other things can they possibly say?
Third.
It was a beautiful day to say goodbye.
It was raining during the whole way (I’d like to think the sky also cries).
I held your framed picture as we passed the familiar streets of our life.
That’s the place where you went to check your car’s wheels.
That’s the restaurant where we shared our favorite noodle.
That’s where we bought our tiles, right Dad?
The last time I pass this street with you.
Fourth.
Your sixty year old body goes up in ashes.
I watched the entire time.
When it was done, I held your whole being in a small terracotta jar.
For all you’ve been, a father, a husband, a brother, an uncle, a friend, you fit in a jar.
I scattered your ashes into the sea, a place you loved so much.
The same sea where you taught me to swim and you windsurfed so many decades ago.
Fifth.
I’d like to think of you now, back to being young
Windsurfing in all ocean of the world
Eternal brave Odysseus, as you’ve been during your life
Sailing ahead to
When you watched us from afar
living the life to make you proud.
