The little hemlock where I left your ashes
is so new this May!
The wee green nubs have appeared on each branch,
the ones Elsie loved in her bath.
The tree made of you and me!
In this holy place,
right by the Sacred Mound,
the oaken guard, so tall,
is just beginning to leaf out,
for here in the High Country, it is Spring.
Around our two trees, I cast small stones,
offerings for the Mother we so adore.
Onyx, tourmaline, and last, turquoise,
to nourish our roots with love.
It is busy here, this Memorial Day,
people passing by,
as you would have enjoyed.
At my feet, not strawberries ripe and red,
but the newest blossoms, close to the ground,
never giving up.
Ahead of me in the field, boneset,
blessing me in the wind,
calls, “be strong, Mama, be strong.”
May 27, 2017
This poem was written at the place where I left my son's ashes, a day after his birthday this year.
|My son Peter|
|Portrait of Peter by Arline Boyce|