Arts + Scene » Poetry

At One With The Ashes

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My father's grandmother had love in her heart,
And as it drained out of her from the marriage
That gave her children and little else
The sanctity of ritual
Lost its meaning.
So for practical reasons,
For the weariness of being in her body,
She seized the opportunity
And, one day with the kids at the movies
And the spouse at work,
She slipped out of her body
And into the plane between here and there.

Three quarters of a century later
She is still tied
To her descendants,
Wondering if they understand
The meanings
Behind the rituals
They barely remember.

Suicide is the slow road,
One barely can remember
The reasons for leaving
As vestiges of the personality
Guide the drifting
Through the ethers
Past the newly dead
And the similarly situated,
Through snatches of conversations
That bring meaning to the word
Lost.

And as the gifted reach out
Through the warpings
In the continuum
She finds purpose
Within the gaps of understanding
Experienced
By her children's children's children
And pours the last of her love
Into the moments of despair
That keep her near...

And as the Qaballah
Is discovered anew,
Refreshing the flow
Of reverence and faith Her love grants her the strength
To look up
And see the dust
Within the light...

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