I carried my father home

Far heavier than I expected
and the size of an old sweet jar,
opaque plastic, black lidded.
Thank heaven it wasn’t transparent.
I could not have gone on like that.
I carried my father’s ashes
through the streets,
past the church and the chapel,
past the pizza and kebab shops,
under summer trees and fuming traffic,
everything poignantly normal.
We didn’t walk out together often.
My father preferred his home.

Such a hot afternoon it was.
I was sweating from heat and emotion.


3 thoughts on “I carried my father home

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