Memorial Day
the jacaranda trees are purple
lining my street --
the outline of the mountains
barely visible
flowers bloom brightly around me
like my grandfather --
jiji wore a bright red aloha shirt
when i visited at Keiro
fading in and out of consciousness
he recognized me and talked excitedly
about colonies in space
and asked if it was really possible
he showed me his new digital watch
and i sat with him until he fell asleep --
his glass eye was still open
reflecting the future
but i knew it was time for me to go
today i touch and feel the surface
of a black granite stone
with the engraved letters
of my grandfather's name --
SHIRO EBIHARA
and i remember being five or six
hanging on my grandfather's arm
where he proudly let me feel
his strong muscles
i am cutting and pulling away the grass
following around the rectangular edges
moving away the dusty covered soil
with my tools scraping on the hot surface --
where a drip of my sweat falls
it was as if jiji was just back
from working in the garden
leaving his muddy shoes by the door;
he would relax on the sofa
drinking a cold beer in his undershorts
watching tv with the picture out of adjustment
while the fan blew a gust of wind
wiping the surface with tile cleaner
the stone was now brilliant to a polish;
arranging the flowers a bit
i took one quick glimpse before i left
i saw my grandfather asleep
with the gravestone reflecting the sun --
his glass eye still awake;
i didn't want to leave
but it was time again to go
// © by wataru ebihara
lining my street --
the outline of the mountains
barely visible
flowers bloom brightly around me
like my grandfather --
jiji wore a bright red aloha shirt
when i visited at Keiro
fading in and out of consciousness
he recognized me and talked excitedly
about colonies in space
and asked if it was really possible
he showed me his new digital watch
and i sat with him until he fell asleep --
his glass eye was still open
reflecting the future
but i knew it was time for me to go
today i touch and feel the surface
of a black granite stone
with the engraved letters
of my grandfather's name --
SHIRO EBIHARA
and i remember being five or six
hanging on my grandfather's arm
where he proudly let me feel
his strong muscles
i am cutting and pulling away the grass
following around the rectangular edges
moving away the dusty covered soil
with my tools scraping on the hot surface --
where a drip of my sweat falls
it was as if jiji was just back
from working in the garden
leaving his muddy shoes by the door;
he would relax on the sofa
drinking a cold beer in his undershorts
watching tv with the picture out of adjustment
while the fan blew a gust of wind
wiping the surface with tile cleaner
the stone was now brilliant to a polish;
arranging the flowers a bit
i took one quick glimpse before i left
i saw my grandfather asleep
with the gravestone reflecting the sun --
his glass eye still awake;
i didn't want to leave
but it was time again to go
// © by wataru ebihara