I pour myself another absinthe
And I can’t help but think
Your ashes are not the fine dust I imagined
My first love, my last love
My longest
My shortest
I will not bury you in the earth where your mother most desires you
You will become part of the heavy wood
Buried beside my roses
Red as the blood that sang through your veins will be those petals that fell to the ground
Strong stems growing up like the bones you so much relied on
A classic flora, a heady scent
I take you home for your roots to take flight
But first, in the dawns early light
I pour myself another drink and wait