Happy Cremation Anniversary, Auntie

Home from a chemo session, uncle lights up a cigarette and collapses to the slick plastic that covers your chaise lounge, auntie. He thumps the upholstery with his legs and elbows for blood to circulate again. A flake drifts. Dehydrated lips, uncle inadvertently kisses ash. Cushions puff up, deflate. Uncle floats smoke rings to prove he still has breath. Your bulbous urn ruptures his rings on contact where curvature casts uncle’s warped reflection, all mouth and smoke, as he would rise to reach your urn on the mantle. Uncle slouches back, watches his sports channel. I head out with his hamper and forget to check pockets before washing clothes, his soggy receipts - - once grocery lists? - - and tissues, torn apart, clumped up, fake snow I have to scoop out of washing machines. Absent-minded tasks at the laundromat, auntie, where you’d bend in pain. Lint trays reinstall fluff. I snap and snap airborne dryer-flakes off towels.