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To My Wife Growing Old
Didn't I tell you
that those who love each other trulywith all their hearts and mindsnever ask,
"Do you love me?"
Well, what can i say,
they just live,they lead a life together.
They don't speak out or proclaim anything,
they just remove the sand from the other's eyeor cut the loose thread of cloth,
which looks so large
Do you rememberthe late autumn fourteen years ago
when the blekest wind in the world blewby the gate of your houseat
the foot of the dark village crowded with old wooden Japanese houses,
on the high embankment,
with dim street lampsand a thicket shedding leaves on the hill;
and you, returning from meeting a boy lighter than a strand of hair,
brushed the dandruff from my shoulders?
Just like that:allowing us to look at each other for a long time.
And when i got sickyou came to see me,
whispering the burning wordswhich must have been so hard to say,
words which must have kept you up at night;
"I want to suffer through this with you."
One by one your words lifted the ethambutol and streptomycinfrom the vial and turned the empty brown bottle white,
filling the empty space with your heart.
At midnight I cluthced the bottle, sobbing, I knewyour love, too full and deep to use the word,
wanted us to suffer this disease together
rather than cure it-that you would lose your mind.
Then you became the reason for my life,
you replaced the future I would inhabit.
We have lived together for many years into what can safely be called an age.
As having lived means having added wrinkles to every career,
the trace of years vivid in your fingertips as you straighten my tie.
the grey hairs scattered around your head in the morning,
but do my best to grow old with you.
Only after we have grown old togetherand I can say in a feeble voice,
"Dear, we've led a good life, haven't we?"
will I be able to say,"I love you."
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