Bill

What is left of a life.

What is left of Bill?
His house.
His two daughters.
The swing that he hung by the silver maple.
The long slope that he sled in winter is still there.
Bill didn't leave that, but his memories still linger there in the minds of passersby.
And ah, these words—these words.
Bill now lives in you.

A poem by Pemba Umoja