Ashes, Ashes
by Teresa White

My husband carried his best friend
in a pasteboard box. I didn't know ash
could weigh so much, expected a handful to toss
into the ferry's chugging wake--
all white hands reaching "here, here, here."

Mother's sifted dust lies
leaf-heavy on a Missouri river bank.
The birch forest welcomes
the drifting dead, though I know
I'll never walk those woods again.

Little brother is strewn over
the Oregon countryside. Petals offered
their orange palms and took him in.
Every day Dad drives to this field of poppies,
waits til the sun strikes gold on gold
then takes the long way home.

During the past three years, Teresa has had over 150 poems published online and in print including: The Best of Melic anthology, Rattle, Snow Monkey, Blue Moon Review, Poet's Canvas, Green Tricycle, In Posse Review, Eye Dialect, Stirring, and Savoy. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 1999 by the Melic Review. She lives in eastern Washington with her husband and cats.