I can still see her in wide brimmed floppy hat,
denim skirt, faded canvas sandals,
puttering around her yard, kneeling in her garden.
She told me she wanted to be cremated,
so that’s what I did. Grandma, Old World soul,
Catholic, expected burial, in a grave,
so I kept Mom’s remains for several months
pondering how to satisfy this thing called family.
On the morning of the drive to the cemetery
at the lake, I stood alone with handfuls of Mom’s ashes
in her still damp yard, surprised and pleased
at the grit and heft of what I scattered
as I walked across the grass to her roses.
We put the urn into the ground half full.
