Pyre

Carefully arranged,
He lay there.
Hair tied back,
Exposing his beautiful face,
Hiding the proof of his autopsy.
Arms crossed gently across his chest,
Tucked quietly beneath the native blanket,
As if to keep him warm,
He waited.
He seemed ready.
We hesitated,
Resisted,
Refused,
And then relented.
Each in our own time,
We said goodbye.
Touched his hair,
Kissed his cheek one last time,
Hugged him softly,
So as not to reveal the Y shaped scar
Carefully concealed beneath his arms and blanket.
When all were done,
She gave him sage
To guide him on his journey home.
He seemed relieved.
The oven warmed while we grieved.
The door opened slow and wide.
The warmth and light of the oven's flames
Reached for him greedily.
He preferred ashes to dust.
As the sage and sinew burned,
They fell together,
The sacred herb and remnants of his physical form
Inseparable in death
As they were in life.

Submerged

I am a stone
solid
cold
rough around the edges
constant
Their expectations weigh on me
press me deeper
into the earth
weakening
The mud hides the cracks they don't want to see
their cause
my effect
crumbling

Redemption

Carve forgiveness into my flesh.
Let my blood wash softly,
shimmering and snake-like,
over my body,
crimson like wine
draining the poison and the sin

And He Was Gone

The Earth held her breath that day,
just for a second, so no one noticed,
not right away, while she reclaimed her first son,
called him home and away from us.
Quietly, calmly and without explanation or apology
he stole away and after him there was a hole, a void.
With each tear it grew wider,
with each gasp deeper until
we were all enveloped and consumed by it.
She held her breath, but only for a second.
And he was gone.