In the bedroom, just two of us,
I spooned rice congee
to your mouth, evoked the old cradle
and pulses of milk you fed to me.
You became weaker each day,
I prayed you wouldn't die.
Sometimes you watched my helpless sobs,
none of the tears told you why.
The bedroom is empty, door shut.
Only the chilly sun knows
those days you were napping,
I sneaked in the blanket, kissing your toes.