Blown Away

We divided what was left of him,

and then divided that.

He was tossed to ocean

and to mountains by

the trails as if we needed him

to sail off, as if we needed

to erase his suicide, forget his cries

for help disguised in ways

we could not hear.

Mom kept his urn of what

was left, she played

him Schubert, Mozart,

played her heartstrings

til the day her home burned 

down and ashes joined

with ashes in the wind.

published on Imogene's Notebook