Ashes
To sweeten the dish, add salt. To bear the pain,
render the insoluble. She envied
the past its incursions, yet the past yields to all,
avoidance to acceptance, trees to smoke.
My mother brought to this country a token of her death to come.
Now it sits on my shelf bearing implements of music.
In her last days I played Sakura on the mandolin,
trusting that she might find comfort
in the blossoms fluttering through the failing notes,
a return to mornings
of tea and rice, of
warmth and paper walls and deep laughter.
Today the rain spells forgive
and every idea becomes form, every shadow a symptom,
each gesture a word, a naming in silence.
Scatter me in air I’ve never breathed.
* * *
“Ashes,” first appeared in Extract(s) in 2013, was reprinted on The Reverie Poetry Journal, and is included in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.
O at the Edges 
One of your best, Bob! Especially love the last line.
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Thanks, Lynne. It took a while to get to that line. 🙂
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Beautiful. Plus a couple of intrigues:
token of her death to come … sits on my shelf bearing implements of music
and
Scatter me in air I’ve never breathed
(With all that’s swirling through the air I am stuck with currently, the thought of death as escape into less-tainted, less-oppressive, less-familiar air definitely appeals. Perhaps those near death can sense such? Perhaps this is their parting gift from the collective airs?)
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Thanks, Jazz. The first intrigue is quite simple. In the early 1950s my Mom and Dad were able to bring back to the U.S. from Japan only a handful of personal belongings. This particular item is an ash tray. It’s large, heavy, chipped and unattractive, but I treasure it for the connection. It holds various picks and slides, tuners, a harmonica and even a mandolin bridge. Mom never quit smoking, and died of lung cancer.
The second intrigue could be an interest in “visiting” places I’ve never been to. But of course it’s more inclusive than that. Or so I hope.
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That is beautiful. So poignant. Thank you Robert.
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Thank you, Margaret!
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The following lines seemed somehow appropriate to our present moment:
a return to mornings
of tea and rice, of
warmth and paper walls and deep laughter.
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I certainly would like to return to moments like that!
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Moi aussi – never mind, there’s always memory lane – I’m busy compiling a census!
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Hi Rob are you OK for me to add this to my post about ’10 great things I found on the internet this week’ introducing you and then linking back to you? Hope you are going well 🙂
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Yes, of course. I would be honored. I am indeed doing well, as I hope you are, too. Thanks!
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