I choose my own memorial day,
A sunny day in April,
A cloudless sky in Spain,
The sea so blue,
The color of old Moorish tiles,
Azulejos.

I buy their favorite flowers
Rose geranium for her,
Red roses for him,
Sweet Alyssum, Lobelia, petunias,
Deep purple daises,
Calendulas, pansies.

I plant them in hand thrown pots
And under the bitter orange tree.
I fashion trellises
With dead pine branches.
How ironic to bind them
With her “Me-Fix” tape.
She would laugh,
He would shake his head.
I place the pots
Along the arches of the terrace
And in the corners
Where they will seek the sun.

I sit alone now
Rocking back and forth
Next to a wild rincon,
Looking out over the sea
Watching the flowers bloom
And grow,
Drinking cup after tiny cup
Of bitter café solo.

I note the passing of each hour,
The ending of each day.

I mourn the loss.
I imagine their voices.
I cannot touch them.

Rose geranium for her,
Red roses for him.