Fifteen years ago this month my brother died. He left a void that time has not filled. And, obviously, I still miss him.
Graveyards of the Mind
A cemetery lost among corporate
cornfields on prime Dakota land.
A solitary square of prairie grass
swaying above souls below.
A muddy trek on Memorial Day
for a kid prompted to place flowers
on tombs of kin. More like a chore.
*
My brother called it right
when he died: cremation. But
his wife hauls him with her
unable to settle
his ashes, stashes him in a closet.
No matter. Departed family members
finally free as the wind:
my mother, a mistral, annoyed
with my dismissal of burial sites
my father, ever a zephyr promising,
"All will be well"
and my sib, a laughing gust today,
messing with my boat on Green Lake Bay.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
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