I sit here today and marvel
that my portion of laden ashes
of the woman who bore me
will be picked up at Exit 7
tomorrow by my half-brother,
after he retrieves another
brother’s portion before
mine at Exit 6, fifteen minutes
south of our rendezvous.
Only my mother, in her
exacting perversity, could have
arranged these highway
drop-offs and pick-ups.
I mean, why allow us to gather
together at interment
in the family graveyard
far up in the north, full of those
who have gone on before.
My mother leaves us, her
families, broken and fractured
in death, as we were in life.
. . . .
Susan Powers Bourne