Ashes
I got lost on the way to the crematorium,
had to ask directions at the gas station.
Pointing with the nozzle, the gas clerk
told me to head down to the river. “Can’t miss it.”
I missed my mother at the river, missed her
at the crematorium counter as they searched
behind a counter buried in coffin brochures.
Coffin brochures then my mother, in a heavy plastic box.
My mother’s voice: Remember to say thank you!
Don’t ask them what the hell took so long.
“What the hell…” would be acting like your father.
For heaven's sake don’t act like your father,
don’t be like your father, my mother would say
if she were here, but she is not. And I am lost.
Estate Sale
Behind the toaster in her kitchen,
next to crumbs undisturbed
for years, I find a desiccated banana
no bigger than my finger.
Estate sale women are coming
to write prices on small tags.
I wrap the delicate fruit in a tissue,
place it inside a zip-lock bag.
It weighs almost nothing, lighter
than her ashes resting
on the passenger seat of my car.
There is nothing else left
I want to take with me.