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          She Who Wanted
          By Lynn Tudor Deming

          And so my mother
          slid on a trestle into the flame,

          she who wanted
          afterwards to be poured out
          among the fish and algae,
          her last dust adrift
          in the reedy foam.

          But my father persuaded her
          to go into earth,
          her ashes sealed in a box
          below a stone,
          so we could visit her,
          he said, so he would not
          lie alone in his last bed.

          She lies now on a hill
          where no fish swim
          and no gulls caw,
          in a town she never really loved;

          and I visit them, sunk
          in their damp hulls,
          moored side by side
          under stones and the nebulaes'
          wild drifting blooms.

          © Copyright 2004, Lynn Tudor Deming, All Rights Reserved

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Document last modified on: 03/06/2005

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