The Ash That Nourishes

"Every ending leaves roots in the soil."

The fire has gone out,

yet ash clings to my hands.

I gather it into a clay bowl,

light as dust,

dark as promise.

✦

Grief is not only weight;

it is also what feeds.

The trees know this—

their roots drink sorrow as water,

and rise green in spring.

✦

I scatter some to the wind,

let it find the rivers.

I bury some in the garden,

let it find the roots.

I keep some pressed against my chest,

a stone of silence I will not release.

✦

The ash will teach me:

that even endings

are beginnings folded in shadow.