My Angel At My Table

I see you dance and sing in the rooms of the home.
You recite poems, you smile to a passer-by in the street.
That’s the way you are, the way you have always been!
I look at you and think: one hundred and one years old and you look like a little girl!
Sometimes you regain memory and tell me about when you used to go dancing.
About your days at school, your teacher. About the days in the rice field. About grandpa and the war.
I listen to you for hours. Then you are quiet again and sit down and eat biscuits.
You don’t like anything else! It’s not a branded product but you have always been gluttonous!
You break them very slowly, piece by piece. You pick up the bits and bring them to your mouth.  
You dip them in the milk. As I see you there, still sitting by our side, my heart bursts with love!
I look at you and you smile back. As if you could hear my heart pounding for you.
You kiss the air and start to sing again.
You say these biscuits are delicious and start eating again, slowly.
I keep on watching you and I see you just… just the way you are.  
As light as a sparrow’s feather, in the peaceful daylight.
As soft as an Angel’s wings. My Angel.