Our daughter is one and a half
You have been dead eleven days
I got on the boat and came to the place where the three of us were going to build our house

If you had lived
You died though
So I came here alone
With our baby and the dust of your bones

I can't remember
Were you into Canada geese?
Is it significant
These hundreds on the beach?

Or were they just hungry for mid-migration seaweed?
What about foxgloves?
Is that a flower you liked?
I can't remember

You did most of my remembering for me
And now I stand untethered in a field full of wild foxgloves
Wondering if you're there
Or if a flower means anything

And what could anything mean in this crushing absurdity?
I brought a chair from home
I'm leaving it on the hill
Facing west and north

And I poured out your ashes on it
I guess so you can watch the sunset
But the truth is I don't think of that dust as you
You are the sunset

Copyright: SC PUBLISHING DBA SECRETLY CANADIAN PUB.
Writer(s): Phillip Whitman Elvrum