Book of the Dead 6

In life, my mother said she longed to travel.
So when she died
Her children took on the task
Of delivering her ashes
to random and various locations,
Widespread as possible.

I traveled on an airplane
With some of Mother’s ashes
In a zip-lock plastic bag
In my hip pocket.
I was conscious of her presence
As I sat in that narrow seat.

And I set them free
In the shadow of Haystack Rock
At Cannon Beach.

She entered the sea
And turned it milky gray
On the first incoming wave,
Then drifted out a few feet
And returned wider on the next wave.
And then, like some kind of ethereal sea bass
Might flip its tail,
She splashed at me and was gone.

I won’t say she hasn’t been back.