… Nothing is ever entirely
right in the lives of those who love each other.Eavan Boland
In the end she sized his sickness
like an old raincoat and put it on
as a curious fish puts on a hook,
or a dandelion whose seed-bulb has blown
dies stark in a meadow so beautiful
and wild it could be her grave.
He wanted his ashes saved in an hourglass
and willed it be turned to time her eggs –
the first one hatched, the next exploded,
but the last boiled so hard she smashed
the glass and littered his heirless ash
across the kitchen floor.
She gathered what she could into a dustpan
and swept the rest out the back door,
but a sudden draft blew it in again –
so she showered the last of him
from her body, bagged what was leftand dumped it in the recycling.