Funeral Rights

I place a heavy urn of responsibility, just kidding

its a chow mein takeout carton,

onto the seat next to me

I’ve got a ticket on an expressionist

train rocketing through bucolic countryside

my hands clutch the earthly

remains of my mother. I try

to decide where to scatter my memories

of her. Some good, some snot as we speed

hellbent down the tracks.

I watch cows stock still-

born in the field landscape flies into the past

awash with nostalgia. I stretch out my arm

lean out the window, dangle the carton one

handed while hurricanes

whip and whisk the ashes uptown

and away, the whistle bellows hard and I remember

I still have my father’s ashes

just in case I want to do this again

but better.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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