Vial #3 3.25.2023

I buried my head in my coat 

            as the wind ripped through me

Dad spoke briefly 

                   softly

            about Mom

            and Jenae, holding her crutches in one hand, 

                        and the ashes in the other, released

                                    the dust that was my mother   

                                    into the snowy wind.

 

The silence is what struck me,

the stillness of the sorrow

the subtlety of the mourning 

            the stubborn refusal to let the walls

                                    be broken down.