Scattering Her Ashes

23 years ago on earth day, I scattered my mother's ashes. I stopped by my girl friend's house...she was supporting me. She was dressed in jeans and sneakers.

"I checked Emily Post on what to wear to an illegal ash scattering the ashes of a woman I didn't like," she said. 

We met my brother who had picked up the ashes. 

When it was done, we went to McDos with my two dogs, Amadeus and Albert. It generated this poem. (I write very little poetry and do not consider myself a poet.)

SCATTERING HER ASHES

Offshoots 9

Geneva, Switzerland

 

 

Clumps of sodden earth

cling to our boots.

The forest whispers,

whines.

A brook, too full

complains,

falling over itself.

A bird

Trills a prayer

for no more rain.

 

My brother carrying the

carboard carton,

goes first.

As he pushes through brush

he forgets to hold a branch.

It hits me like another

forty years ago

in a different wood.

 

We come to a meadow with

last year’s grass

engraved in mud.

He lays the carton

on the ground.

“Here.”

Inside, a plastic bag.

We each take corner.

The wind catches the powder,

lifts and plays creating

a mini cloud

too close to earth.

 

I think

How much power

that ash once held,

how little power now.

Done.

We walk back

trapped

in our ancient silences.