Mourning

 

I resolved to stop grieving

when all traces were gone

 

from a wool afghan she loved.

The ball of fur beside her urn

 

expanded as weeks passed. At first,

small, matted orangish-brown,

 

it grew from individual hairs found

on pillows, sill and couch.

 

My plan, bury this fur on her ash

dug deep into black earth

 

beneath purple cosmos

where she liked to lie.

 

They would wave goodbye 

with each wind -- till fall set in.

 

Then I found her blanket

and had to begin again.

                               Timothy Pilgrim