my father’s Bible
 
old stains of coffee and tea
 
gracing the pages

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on the granite stone
 
my father’s name grows fainter—
 
tattered butterfly

 
 
 

In the nursing home
 
I clutch my father’s thin hand—
 
spring melancholy.

 
 
 

Into the same urn
 
cradling my father’s ashes,
 
I pour my mother’s.

 
 
 

my father’s dying
 
more than a decade ago—
 
spring melancholy

Chrysanthemums

 
 
 

Deepening autumn—
 
on my father’s grave I place
 
white chrysanthemums.

Sisters

 
 
 

Deepening autumn—
 
two sisters bring fresh flowers
 
to their father’s grave.