Friends and relatives gone,
I sit in the living room
staring at your photo.

From the window I see the swing
where we spent many evenings,
wrapped in an emptiness.

I remember the day you were born.
When I held you in my arms for the first time
that I began believing in miracles.

The house no longer echoes your
little feet in flight. Like frost, I realize
silence carries a sharp bite.

Today you would have been five.
I’ll go to the square and feed pigeons,
which you enjoyed most.

I’ll scatter your collection of shells on the shore
for the waves to take them back gently,
to where they belonged.

And I’ll cling to your memories until a wave
comes to take me away from this shore,
to where we all belong.