white chrysanthemums
 
to remember my father—
 
first chill of autumn

 
 
 

One more April ends—
 
I keep forgetting to spread
 
my father’s ashes.

 

 
 
 

With no umbrella,
 
a father and daughter walk
 
in the freezing rain.

 
 
 

With help from the wind,
 
snowflakes rearrange themselves
 
on my father’s grave.

 
 
 

gifts for my father
 
at his permanent address—
 
white chrysanthemums

 
 
 

summer solitude—
 
placing three yellow roses
 
on my father’s grave

 
 
 

My father’s old shirt—
 
the fragrance of mountain mist
 
lingers on the sleeves.

 
 
 

First chill of autumn—
 
coffee from my father’s cup
 
warms me to the bone.

 
 
 

Midmorning coffee—
 
I sip from an old stained cup
 
that was my father’s.

 
 
 

At my father’s grave
 
I find that someone has left
 
white chrysanthemums.