Roberto
Thank you for the, "yes," your smile always gave me
When we met.
Thank you for telling me it was the little things in life
Like my phone calls that kept you going.
Thank you for listening to my sorrows and then giving me
Encouragement when I needed it.
Thank you for seeing the pain behind my smile and giving me
Comfort.
Thank you for the admiration and respect you gave me.
Thank you for loving me for whlo I am, and not expecting
More or less from me.
Thank you for the many hours you gave me sitting in your
Garden. Time is Precious.
Thank you for your humor and how you kept me laughing.
Thank you for the grace and elegance you added to our
Every meeting.
Thank you for the high standards and integrity you demanded
From yourself and those around you.
Thank you for seeing the best in me and not letting me forget it.
Thank you for the stubborn independence and self reliance that kept you
Strong and led the way for me.
Thank you for your love of beauty, both the inward and the outward,
and how your sharp eye sharpened mine.
Thank you for believing in me and wanting me here, with you.
Thank you for loving me and telling me so.
Thank you for choosing me as friend, sister, family.
Christine McAuliffe
The New Year
It is winter and the new year.
Nobody knows you.
Away from the stars, from the rain of light,
you lie under the weather of stones.
There is no thread to lead you back.
Your friends doze in the dark
of pleasure and cannot remember.
Nobody knows you. You are the neighbor of nothing.
You do not see the rain falling and the man walking away,
the soiled wind blowing its ashes across the city.
You do not see the sun dragging the moon like an echo.
You do not see the bruised heart go up in flames,
the skulls of the innocent turn into smoke.
You do not see the scars of plenty, the eyes without light.
It is over. It is winter and the new year.
The meek are hauling their skins into heaven.
The hopeless are suffereing the cold with those who have nothing to hide.
It is over and nobody knows you.
There is starlight drifting on the black water.
There are stones in the sea no one has seen.
There is a shore and people are waiting.
And nothing comes back.
Because it is over.
Because there is silence instead of a name.
Because it is winter and the new year.
Mark Strand
