Dumping the Ashes
The night she died the moon was full
and the wisteria in bloom.
My sister and I drove
from California to Colorado
with mother’s ashes
in the back seat of the car
packed in a tin
inside a small brown box.
We took her to a bridge
over the South Platte River.
Just at sunset it started to rain.
Her ashes didn’t scatter
when my sister tilted the tin,
they fell in one big clump.
O Mom I’m sorry!
my sister yelled.
I laughed.
I’d say she jumped.