so much remains

On the last day, you may find it hard to remember
most things. You consider the laughter but
laughter, sadly, is common, too random,
anyone else's. You try to think of their
hands, however, hands
are not as sacred as they once were; even,
admittedly, hers, resting on his bare shoulder.
Faces would be another popular theme, but faces change with
time, no matter how hard we who are left behind try to tell ourselves
that they have not. What I think I remember
are some moments --- her sitting beside me while
riding to town, or a morning when the sunlight formed an
almost-circle around his head, a likely halo. And what about that day when everyone was laughing about
a dastardly private joke and they were both looking
at me, as if I were responsible for that moment, among
many other laughable things. It's sadness in a box,
the birthday boys chant. Our primary skill is
saying goodbye. No one leaves but everyone seldom returns.
They know this because they are older now -- men with
ghosts for companions, their bare backs toughened by all their
lost afternoons. But on this last day, they brace
themselves for new goodbyes. Au Revoir. Sayonara.
Paalam. However you say it, it remains the same. However you
remember it, so much remains.