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”





This entry was posted in Aging, Coping, Friends, grief, Perspective, Uncategorized, Vent and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Ashes

  1. Ra says:

    Sounds like true feelings well said. In earnest. Who could say this better.


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