I figured you’d like it here.

My words escape my lips

as chilled thoughts filtered

through January.

I didn’t know for sure,

but I felt you would like

the backdrop of Mount Ranier

etched in hues through the valley

of the shadow of death and patches

of evergreen trees.

A hall pass and a baseball bat

comfort you, and God’s embrace

saves sinners,

saved sinners like you.

Icy ripples in a stream

through a creek

that blended into a lake.

I don’t see dead people,

not often, anyway.

But I saw you that day.

I saw God wash the pain

from your face.

A smile flickered in my eyes

and a tear reached my lips.

I wish I could’ve been there

to tease you, to laugh

that we can’t cry anymore.

I removed my gloves

to touch you for one last

time.

I closed and opened my eyes.

I unscrewed the jar, sobbing,

I reached to touch stardust.

I kept my hand there for a moment.

I sighed at the terms of service

that came with life. Death.

I sprinkled your ashes

over dust today.

Mom, well, I think she’ll be fine.

I don’t know, though.

I don’t talk to her anymore.

I was never close

like you were with her.

But I want to believe

she’ll forget you the way

she forgot about me.

Not much ever

went our way, champ.

No one went out

of their way to make

a life less than lifeless.

But here, no one cares

who you were.

A soft breeze

carried memories,

that I couldn’t catch.

From Ashes to Stardust

You protected me,

and I’ll protect your children.

I don’t know how.

But I know I will.

I learned from your lesson.

I’m strong enough to know

I need my wife.

You were the young man

in the older man’s bar, waiting

for your time to die.

Your memory is more

than a Redhook,

or gin over rocks

in a streakless shot glass.

I hold my wife’s hand,

and your young daughter’s

up in my other arm.

Your memory wakes me up

and keeps me from forgetting

that I’m alive,

and how much I have to give

in your peace, I rest.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Twitter: AC0040