The bits. This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

December 20, 2010
I remember they asked,
"What are you thinking?"
How could I tell them?
In my hands I held you,
The only pieces left of you.
The bits of bone, the gray ashes.
I looked down at my hand,
All thats left of my father.
I didn't cry now
They would just worry.
There would probably be more therapy.
Another person who wanted
Inside my mind.
"What are you thinking?"
My mother asked.
How could I tell her?
I was upset.
She had left him years ago.
Never let me see him,
Kept the secrets.
And now all I have left are
The bones, the gray ashes.
If I told her
She would want to sit and talk.
I didn't want to talk.
"What are you thinking?"
I heard you whisper in my ear.
A ghost again.
It's all you can be now.
How can I tell you?
That I want you back,
To hug you again.
How can I say it?
I don't remember you,
I can't feel your warmth
Or your voice, I don't even know the sound.
Your ghost is all I have.
"What are you thinking?"
I ask of myself.
How do I answer?
I want to hold these ashes forever.
I Don't want the water to take you,
Theres only these bones and ashes.
Maybe I could put a bone in my pocket,
And without a warning
My hands have fallen.
I don't have my ghost anymore.
I don't even have a gray ash, A bit of bone.
"What are you thinking now?"

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