January 18, 2013 – Ten Years Have Passed

TALKING WITH JASON

My mourning spot isn’t in a graveyard
but in a white paper sack in a book shelf
drop down desk. You lie there,
in a clear plastic bag of what is left
after the fire of change.

Left alone, you accumulate years of newspaper
notices that your father and I have put into
the personals columns––reminding others
twice a year of your blond hair and brown eyes
gone still and cold when you were a young man.

Ten years have come and gone and you stay
sealed in your cupboard. Will we ever be able to
give you to the earth or the water? The idea is
lovely, but the motivation is lacking––I think
I feel you here with me in the flesh although
these ashes belie the notion.

I wish I could find the tape where you were
talking and singing. That would be a new memory
to hold on to. I am beginning to ramble, not much
poetry in that. Time to close down my mind and kiss
you goodnight