Blackened Dust
It is entirely unassuming
The heap of blackened dust sits ever-silent in the vase
The urge to blow it into a thin mist of ash up in the air arises
I press it into the back of my skull
...
The silence from it scares me
He was never silent
Never silent until now
He never had so little passion
Never so little until now
He never stopped enriching our lives
Never stopped until now
A rebellious child when rebelling against house rules makes for a
stressed mother
When it's against the empire, it makes for a broken one
He knew he would get himself killed
He knew the whole way through
He knew it until he knew it firsthand
He died knowing it
I feel him comforting me: the ash smiles a sad smile to me
The ash sighs a soft sigh to me
The ash loves a soft love for me
I am beyond too old to continue what he started.
My little body cannot hold his anger
My bones too broken and too shrivelled to carry his weight
I stand hunched and too short to fly his flag
However
The young who surround me, their hands on my shoulders, their eyes on my
son in my hands.
They are filled with his anger.
Their bones are bolstered with his immense strength.
They stand tall, bold and ready to fly his flag.
And in that moment I know the change my boy has brought.
My boy sits in his vase and knows it too.