Early in the Morning

Today I went to the cemetery, early in the morning, when the grass was still wet with dew and the air tasted of cold stone.

Dad, Mum, your two names rest together on a single silent stone. I laid the red roses over both of you, then brushed the dust from the place where your names touch. I didn’t speak; the morning said everything.

A few steps farther on, my sister, I left the small white daisies on your grave. You would have chosen them first, the way you always did.

I stayed until the sun rose above the trees. Then I walked home, hands empty, heart full of the silence they keep for me.

Paolo Driussi.