Who knew that ashes would weigh the same
in your arms as when you held him as a baby.
You hold them close to your chest,
your heart breaking, this is not something
you were expecting, to be sent back 20 years
to the cradling of love, small soft body
against yours now an emptiness of sky
heavy on your breast.
Each breath is a word, spoken or unsaid,
but what can you say as you place him
in a snug shovel-dug hole in the earth
but keep warm, my beautiful boy.
We brush the plaque now sitting over him
with our fingers – a kiss goodbye of love.
We take a small jar of him home with us.
We have his smile, we say in tear-mist breath.
That night a light rain falls and I think of him
alone in the damp earth. You are not alone I say.
You are not alone.
[Published by permission of the author, an Australian, Warwick McFadyen]