IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
When Ashes Are Left to Fly Alone
A poem
How lucky are we to be a keeper of ashes?
When not all have that luxury
when life snatched by war
and devastation
may never find its keepers again.
I too have been lucky,
for I have known few deaths
and many more escapes
from the grips of those grasping hands
of the dastardly reaper.
I know not what it is to carry ashes,
the soul of someone dear
now held in a pot
slipped into my shoulder bag.
But I have thought much about the day that will happen.
My mother, she knows exactly her want
to be turned to ash when her day comes.
Though not accepted by her religion,
she desires
to be returned to the land of her birth,
of her sister’s and brothers’ births,
of her mother’s, grandmother’s, great-grandfather’s,
and great-great-grandfather’s births,
known by many as The Holy Land.
