Posted on Remembrance Sunday
My mother gave my father’s body back
inside a plastic bottle filled with grit.
I scattered it from boulders on Hay Tor
where they had honeymooned in sixty one.
She took her husband’s ashes on the plane
and flew them to a beach just north of Perth –
a landmark in the story of themselves
where she entrusted them to southern seas.
Standing on the shoreline by the harbour,
deep currents mingle at the river’s mouth…
I’m waiting for the elements to bring
my father’s wandering body back together:
a fleck of heart on cold winds from the hills,
a mote of bone on currents from the south.