Every night they relive their loved ones death
I sleep with him confined in my necklace
his ash against my skin
memories like old films play through my mind
I read his books like a ghost he left behind
each word like his voice echoing in my mind
I feel his hand pressed against my palm
the smell of the hospital room in my breath
He'll be okay, the nurses said
then, a scalpel pressed against my grandfathers chest
a rush of doctors and the terrible sound of mashines
my gut tells me its over and the aneurism breaks
they close his eyes as his spirit dissipates
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem