Poem for a Saturday

The above photo is of the spot in Pachuta where we buried my mother's ashes.


I was reminded of  Mary Oliver's The Leaf and the Cloud - a poem.

Chapter 1 - Flare - Verse 3:

Nothing lasts.

There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is,
now.

I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.

And continuing in Verse 5 (of her mother) ...

I bury her
in a box

in the earth

and turn away.

My father

was a demon of frustrated dreams,

was a breaker of trust,

was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.

... Listen,

this was his life.

I bury it in the earth.

I sweep the closets.

I leave the house.

Verse 6:

I mention them now,

I will not mention them again.

It is not lack of love

nor lack of sorrow.

But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.

I give them - one, two, three, four - the kiss of courtesy,

of sweet thanks,

of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.

May they sleep well. May they soften.

But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.

I will not give them the responsibility for my life.