30 Years Old Today

Ashes of Roses

for m.

Brittle dried blood petals there

roses kept for future time

collected for her wedding day,

the petals wait in a box of brass.

She slipped away like morning dreams

in fluid darkness down she spun

last kick unfelt that starry night,

we dreamt of running daughters then.

When she was born, her body warmed

by womb, she lacked just breath alone,

and faintly, slightly stirred as she

lay on Dawn's weeping, empty heart.

Petals wait in a box of brass

her ashes in a box of wood.

Originally published in the Maine Review, Spring 1980