A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
At the time it seemed a good idea Dividing his ashes One half — then another divided in sixths For each child, his brother And me, always trying to please everyone But he’s probably not pleased Lurking in plastic bags, in cardboard boxes, In the garage Oh, one part of him is in Yosemite Another in the surf at La Jolla A third is in his brother’s garden But what to do with nine twelfths? The house? There are already too many ghosts Dragging their vaporous selves out from between computers, cell phones, printers and vast quantities of unlabeled chargers Not the vegetable garden for the confirmed hater of spinach and broccoli! His kids said Disneyland, but now they rarely visit Afraid I may say, “Just a minute, I need to give you something from the garage.” They are wise to me Our family of indecision, denial So there he sits What will I do with the nine twelfths in the garage?
Copyright 2015 Barbara Huntington. This poem was first published in San Diego Writers Ink Anthology.