Dust To Dust
He doesn’t remember
his great grandfather
who passed away when he was five
He can’t recall the wooden heart
he painted in a kaleidoscope of colors
that his father helped him to place
carefully in the casket
His developing brain at some point
over the past decade
determined the record of that day
and of the man himself
he'd hugged before leaving the hospital
when last he saw him alive
who had existed on this earth
for eighty one years
to be dispensable
superfluous
It doesn’t matter who we are
mendicant or movie star
Someday no one will remain
who retains memories of us
It is not only our bodies
that decay into dust
Copyright © Angela Douglas | Year Posted 2022
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