The ritual of scattering
my inevitable ashes
In places long cherished
seems at first glance
an indulgence of whimsy,
wishful thinking that something remains
after lungs draw  breath no more,
blood no longer carries life
ceaselessly throughout this body
no longer  enclosing
the self that once was Me.

What is the point of
such sentimentality?
The spreading of my ashen molecules
seems a foolish enterprise,
mere hopefulness for comfort
in the face of my utter absence.

But then again,  why should I not wish
to blend with the ebb and flow of the sea
or calm waters of a peaceful lake  glittering under sunny skies?
Why would I resist mingling
with rich, dark soil in a garden of glorious flowers?
Why? Why not?
After all, when what is left of me
is nothing more than a bit of ash and bone,
that can become my last gift
to the places of my heart,
a little nourishment in the cycle of Life.

Eileen Auger
4/25/14