You won a koi at the matsuri,
golden prize in a plastic bag,
and suddenly I became your water advisorโ
pH strips and chemistry we never knew we'd need.
I told you 6.8 to 7.2, slightly alkaline,
you tested daily like a prayer.
When the white spots came (ich, we learned together),
I guided you through salt baths and temperature.
We fought for that small life, you and I,
through midnight water changes,
through forums read at 3am,
through hope that knowledge could heal.
But some things slip despite our care.
You buried them on a hillsideโ
not flushed like a secret
but placed like a treasure returned.
Now I forget, but you remember
every conversation about nitrogen cycles,
every time I said "try this,"
every way we failed together at saving.
This poem is the hill
where that memory rests.
When I forget again, show me:
We tried. It mattered. They were loved.