Poem for Thursday, April 26, 2012

Post Funera Gifts


your bones became black
tea leaves, submerged and scattered
in the spring earth--
          i tasted you in my water.


your son or daughter
grew stoic, stuffed bags with soap
incense and matches
          as if to say,
          "her corpse is clean."


i struck three for you
smelled the chemicals you once
breathed, watched
           the flames dance
           and die out.


they burned goldenrod
like our sun, which was shining
that morning
           but inevitably set later.