Periwinkle

 

Mum would have loved to stay

On the day we threw her ashes away

(Such scant regard for moral probity, social etiquette, common courtesy!)

It was cold and blustery. June.  The tide was

Up and the sand swept and curled

Round our ankles.

She would have loved to

Stray down this her favourite beach, spring

In her step, a little girl bright with mischief, up to no good.

She would have wandered off away from us all, bending

Now and then to examine a pebble, pick a shell she fancied,

Throw some desultorily down again. Cherish others.

Relish the texture between her cool fingers, maybe

Pocket one or two.

 

We half a dozen here to scatter her to the wind are not so

Sure of ourselves, gathered in clumps against the cold,

Waiting, wondering as to how to go, what procedure to follow

For such a solemn rite.

And Dad - grim, hair tousled - too sombre to get it right,

Overwhelmed with the occasion and expecting more

Than possible of the moment - this sacred act,

Struggled, flustered and awkward, to open the plastic lid of the

Urn in which she was kept.

Had to force the thing, accidentally spilling some before he’d meant,

Recoiling in dismay as the holy ash caught in the gust and flew

Back on its bearer; stumbled a little, almost fell.

We gazed stunned, unable to help,

For this was his ceremony and she

Was our mum: how could we retrieve the moment?

Clumsy clumps of ash fell, before eventually all took to the

Air and in a flurry of powdery grey took flight.

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My sister and my sister and I wept,

Hugged, and smiling and sobbing strolled forward

As Mum would have done, looking

For the right pebble or periwinkle or shell

To conserve the love in our hearts:

A souvenir -

Hopefully one of the fan shells Mum loved -

A souvenir

To cherish, to hold from the day,

Come from the sand to which she’d returned

And as she’d have wanted to, stay.

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Periwinkle published in Issue 68 of Voice and Verse Poetry Magazine

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