Yesterday, aunt Vilma died and
I had one of the most wonderful experiences of my life.
Is not that ironic?
Mom was crying, daddy
taking care of her and crying,
but hidden it at himself.
Who is gonna come to my parents place
and say:
Hey guys, we're ready for the next round!
Who is gonna make smile my daddy?
Who is gonna laugh at our life's small details created by us?
My parents house is quite now,
doors are open, windows
open as well, but
she will be absent
for a while.
My mom is gonna keep cooking
aunt's Vilma favorite dishes and writing
those poems they used to write,
such as a game were they said each
other how should solve their domestic problems.
Good way to avoid our ears addressed to the dinning room.
Dear aunt Vilma,
you are
not only in our pictures, but also
our Sundays and Hollydays.
Eating and drinking dishes made by my mom
will mean
for everybody
to remember you.
You used to promote
all over the houses of
our large family
the good cook of my mom,
she will be thanks to you
once more.
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