The priest performed
a simple solemn service
for the internment
of your ashes.


Your close family
were there
by the graveside;
the small dug hole,
the sacred plot,
the green carpet.


Your sister brought
your wooden casket,
carrying you
for the last time.


Your nephews and nieces
cried as did we all
inside or out.

I guess you were there,
my son, in spirit
looking on, taking in
the whole service
from start to end;
the flowers;
the wooden casket
with your name on top;
watching your brother
place it carefully
in its resting place;
ashes to ashes,
the priest said,
but the soul lives on,
his words meaningful
in the afternoon warmth,
the sun lazily there;
bird song;
you listening,
my son, nearby,
silent as you
usually were,
eyeing the proceedings,
sensing our loss
and ache
at your departure
in a bodily sense;
but you are
here and there
in spirit
as our recompense.

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