Somebody dies. Where they go
I do not know that I care: for a moment, they
Grain of sand in outstretched,
Screen door slamming; skillet
Sizzling on the range. False teeth in
Small glass; thoughtful critic, new-mown
Grass. Leaf chopping, weekly shopping. Trips
To the bank. Often a crank but always
Loving. Pushing, pulling, even
Shoving; molding, scolding, gazing firm
At something I could not see, something
I could be.
A better place?
I see her face
Not in the sky but in
I keep no ashes on my shelf.
Some body dies; but
-Dedicated to Fern Durst, 1917-2010