Ash Wednesday

Mom is waiting in a

black plastic box.

Eight and a half,

by six and a half,

by four and a half

-inches.

On the bookshelf.

Waiting for this

pandemic to end.

So she can join Dad

in the headwaters

of the Kaweah River.

Little brother lies

under a giant oak

in Cannock Chase.

His black lab Dyson,

seemed to know it was

the place, two years later.

The temporary urns

are approved by TSA

for carry on luggage.

I carried Carolyn

to Bangkok. With 

a 36-hour delay

at the Hong Kong

airport when the

pro democracy

protestors shut it down.

I was ok with that

but slept the first night

on the floor.

With the urn

in my knapsack,

four and a half

inches tall, just right,

to prop up my head.

They weigh more than

you might expect,

not so light as what

comes out of a fireplace

or an ashtray. Four to six

pounds for women, more for men,

you don’t forget

what you carry,

to the sea,

the mountain,

the wind,

the river.