My Grandmother

My grandmother passed away January 24, 2005, on her 74th birthday. Beholding the little urn containing her ashes was a surreal experience, one which led to the creation of the following poem:

The ashes in the jar—
Who are these cinders now?
This woman, beautiful in youth, dark hair and twinkle eyes.
One whose brain still fired faster
Than her grandchild’s. This woman,
Whose eyes passed many pages,
Before they closed one last time.
This woman, whose lungs collapsed,
Self-destructing,
Gasping.
Here are her remains.

But what are they now? What ever were they yet?
A shadow.
A tent.
Though but dust-specks, caught in the wind, scattered to sink
Indistinguishable from the molecules of earth, these were the
Tale-bearers of glory to come.
Collapsed lung spoke of
Breath unhindered,
Pouring forth the praise of God.

Marred members, yet we loved them just the same.

The pilgrim pavilion sags in the woods.
Time to unpitch and move along.
Leave the shredded canvas.
Rest under solid roof tonight.