Left holding the bag again

Or box, as it so happens

A container of dust

That is not really him

*

Okay it’s true the person is gone

Their spirit and essence

Does not reside in this unworthy cube

of generic black plastic

*

I inherited

The u-shaped outline

From the seat of his greasy work pants

On my cane kitchen chairs

*

I inherited

The burned cord

Of my brand new mini-chopper

When he draped it across the lit burner

*

What I have left

Are photos and laughable memories

Quotes cerebral

And this box of gray ashes

*

Some people don’t care what happens

With their own remains

Or anyone else’s

Well, good for you

*

Let this be my thing, okay?

Tough shit

If you don’t like how I grieve

*

The way I see it

These shards of a brother’s bones

Deserve the honor of loving placement

As a rite of passage

*

How many times would he laugh and say he didn’t care

Then tell me

In a moment of earnest

With eyes shining

“I know you’ll take care of it”

~*~