On the Occasion of the First Bon Festival

Once I hang the white lantern and light it,
I arrange plenty of white baby's breath, the flowers you loved,
and burn your favorite sandalwood incense.
The summer sky is even hotter than in years past,
and the silence in the room where we were always together rings in my ears.

A kingfisher rests its wings on the lotus blooming in the pond.
In that small flash of blue that flew away in an instant,
I suddenly saw a reflection of your life.
The ripples on the water were not caused by the lotus,

but as your heartbeat began to echo in the sky,
I was struggling just to live each day.
Crushed by your absence morning and night,
even catching my breath was painful.

Just when I thought I might join you in heaven,
I found a letter you left behind in the desk:
"Live on. I'll always be watching."
The one who reached out from the sea of despair
was, as always, your presence.

The meal I prepared might be too little for me,
but perhaps it is just right for you, with your small appetite.
The spirit horse I offered for the first time is quite misshapen,
but I hope you'll bear with it and ride it home.

Today, when the curtain of night falls,
let's have a toast with the sake you loved.
I am not yet someone I can be proud of,
but I felt you smile at the glass I filled.

(2023.8.14. 7:20)

(Cocoa Republic, October 2023 Issue, Honorable Mention)