In loving memory of my uncle M.

I remember being four,
your hands hoisting me up—
suddenly taller, suddenly powerful.
I could see everything from up there,
the world stretched out like a map.
You were the ground beneath me.

I remember stepping off the train,
your city smelled different,
the air heavy with something I couldn’t name.
But you were there,
arms crossed, grinning.
It was enough.

I remember the river boat,
how we let silence do the talking,
two beers sweating between us.
No lessons, no speeches.
Just the steady drag of the current,
pulling us somewhere neither of us named.

I remember you—just like me,
a soldier, a spy,
watching, waiting, moving through rooms
like you belonged but never quite did.
I understood that.

I remember the last time I hugged you,
promised, Next spring, I'll come.
Now spring is coming anyway,
indifferent, obscene.

I remember your love, your care,
your silence, thick as a wall.
And I remember the way I never said
half the things I should have.

Lucija Lotus Mlinarič