Ashes

Ashes

Sliding between my fingers,

Both smooth and coarse,

The ash from what used to be

Swirls into the air with a gust.

Listening closely,

I hear echoes of fireside conversations,

Hushed and loving, raised and angry.

Looking closely,

I see shards of logs,

Which once lay hard and heavy,

Now reduced to powder

In my hand

Lifted by the slightest breeze.

Between the fingers of my heart

I hold powder and shards of my past.

Conversations hushed and loving, angry and heated

Successes and failures, hard and heavy

Now made ash with the flame of time

Able to be carried with the wind.

If only I'd open my hand.

One day,

I will be ash.

Ash to ash, dust to dust

Pointing backwards, pointing forward,

The ash holds a truth I must remember

Placing them on my forehead

To never forget,

To always remember,

I walk down the aisle of the church.