Ashes mixed with tears
 
the day the Twin Towers fell—
 
September darkness.

 
 
 

Labor Day’s bad news:
 
ashes from a nearby fire
 
rain down on my car.

 
 
 

One more April ends—
 
I keep forgetting to spread
 
my father’s ashes.

 

 
 
 

Nothing more remains
 
of the dreams I once held dear—
 
ashes in my hand.

 
 
 

Into the same urn
 
cradling my father’s ashes,
 
I pour my mother’s.

 
 
 

After his house burns,
 
an old man sifts the ashes—
 
spring melancholy.

Ashes

 
 
 

Kindled by fireworks
 
the scarecrow’s battered straw hat
 
crumbles to ashes.

Ashes

 
 
 

After last night’s rain
 
she leaves the funeral home
 
with her son’s ashes.

Ashes

 
 
 

my father’s ashes
 
dribbling from a plastic bag
 
punctured by a mouse

Proverbs

 
 
 

burning love letters
 
on a winter afternoon—
 
proverbs of ashes