We lie awake in the shadow
We’ve molded into the bed.
I wrap your hair around my finger,
You smell like the sleep and sweat of a summer night.
You start to talk about death, again.
You tell me that when people get cremated,
They pop.

I remember the black balloons from my grandma’s funeral.
I watched them pop when I had expected them to float
Til the black faded into the blue.
They reached the atmosphere, but not heaven.

I tell you my grandma was cremated.
You don’t hear me.
You say you want back into the ground,
To nourish the earth with your body.
I say I want to be burned back to the earth.
I say “ashes to ashes” and “dust to dust”.
You don’t get it.

You say that sounds nice, actually.
You tell me to take your ashes and spread them over
The river we
Spent our first summer days together
Drowning in the sun,
And each other’s company

I try to picture you as ashes.
I’d rather be your black balloon.