Hans Gibson
May 2, 1929-December 5, 2005

So many are

Tante Lina,
Christian &
my grandmother, Emily,
Uncle Ernst &
now, Hans.

For my loneliness––
they gave me the gift
of my ancestors.

For my speechlessness––
a language that sings
like childhood memories.

For my homelessness––
the love of a village.

Hans was my father &
my friend.

We had an understanding
deeper than the roots of time.

He taught me
the tools of the plumber &
the farmer––
the tools of life.

He showed me the earth
where the potatoes

He took me to the
Bierfest where a single
liter overcame me.

His jokes & his
laughter brightened my

He said, “Immer Forshung,”
because that’s what life is.

He lives in my heart
& I can never sleep without
being at peace with him.

For now, he leaves behind
the astounding work of his hands,
his glorious children,
& his beloved Analiese.