Funeral of a Friend | Museum-Quality Art Print

It shouldn’t have been
such a clear autumn day.
No—
it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Her call,
his daughter’s voice.
And so I was forced
to go—
to greet the death
of a dear friend.
I stripped off a few dry thoughts,
coughed impulsively,
like the elderly tend to do.
Heading toward his meadow,
toward his forest—
I thought.
It had been too long.
Between us
rose too many things:
rails, supermarkets,
shadowed streets
we feared.
I no longer knew you.
But I had no choice
but to remember you,
my friend.
Fearless, worn,
once sharp
as the staggered syntax
of youth.
Now scattered—
like spring blossoms
falling.
His family,
stone-faced.
Their suits,
tight with silence.
But he never liked silence,
I thought.
And had no way
to stop it.
Outside—
the sun burned
entirely,
light pooling
on your face
in broken white.
Then—
I heard you,
calling me
from a sunny afternoon
long ago.
And I laughed.
And almost—
almost took your hand.

这本不该是这样晴朗的一个秋日
本不该是这样
接到他女儿的电话，我于是被迫前往他的葬礼
——迎接一位挚友逝去
我褪下一些干涩的思绪，像所有老年人那样冲动地咳嗽
前往他的草地
前往他的丛林
我想着
太多年没有见过，我们之间已经建起了大大小小
太多，令我们恐惧的铁轨、超市和阴暗的街
我已经不熟悉你，我知道
但我不得不记得你，我的朋友
无畏、斑驳，我们曾敏锐如任何错落的语句
尽管现在只如春花般飘落
他的亲人们脸色铁青
衣冠整整地沉默着
他不喜欢沉默，我想到
却毫无办法
外面的太阳那样彻底地燃烧
我看向盛放你的容器
仅有光耀的白斑停留在你的面孔处
接着
我听到来自许多年前同样明媚的一个下午你呼喊我
而我嬉笑着
几乎要抓住了你的手