The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2009

Letting Tom Go

The air is huge above the flowered field.

The surprising weight of his ashes

consoles me — he is still as real

as the dirt that gathers on my shoes.

As I face into the gleaming yellow breeze

I remember him careening down this slope

bicycle bouncing, our son packed on his back,

their whoops exploding over poppies

and my protesting fear.

The sun has filled the hollows in my chest.

I kneel and scatter him in grasses,

careful not to dust the green with gray.

And there. I’ve planted him at last. I stand

and look down at the mound —

already it is darkening with the damp.

I hear a quiet howling from the sky

and wish I could undo so many things.

I should have flung him high into the air,

let him fly.

Pat Zylius