Family*

Because his son was about to start school
The father wrote poems every day
The poems turned into a cap and backpack
Into textbooks and crayons
Into a little umbrella and other things
The first of April
The son was led by his mother
Through the town of blooming cherry trees
To the entrance ceremony
For the first graders in the Citizen’s School
Held inside the old castle
In the house which had now grown quiet
Left alone with the elderly maid, the father
Listened to the songs of the birds
Listened to the roar of the sea
As if hearing them the first time in ages

FAMILY*