Last night I saw my parents on the lawn,
sparsely attired in the spring’s morning light;
I did not know their faces at first sight,
rather their posture, as of old they’d drawn
their white chairs side by side, their gaze was trained
on me in welcome; and I came no nearer,
drank in the picture, that of mother, father,
my future closed behind me – none remained.
The garden now a park, the house replaced
by offices, nothing recalls me there,
strangers’ steps have removed our every trace.
And yet last night that lawn, them unerased,
still in their usual spot, no homeless pair,
and what I would become sank in their gaze.