I hum
at low volume to block out
what’s being said, try to look past
the pulpit and through
the wall of the church,
think of something else,
not how we used to swim in the place
where these ashes will.
There is a definite divide
between me and the urn.
We could eat kalbi and drink soju,
cheer for the 49ers,
go to dive bars and, if we’d had
too many, be brave, sing karaoke,
as bad as all the rest.
Now that thing there, the urn,
the ashes, these are not
you.
Not us eating or drinking or cheering or singing or . . .
They are not.
From now on I know I will
swim in this last swimming place,
swimming always with these ashes about me
and never think
about you
anymore.
* * * * *
Today’s word is
ashes
Write a piece using it, or inspired by it, and post that piece here as a comment. I would love to read what you write : )
