We piled them in barrows,
body on body,
and carted them to the pit.
We lifted them into
the ashes of their kin,
and my youngest scattered
ragged remnants across the lawn.
When we lit them
their skins crackled and split,
smelling sweetly of
of earth and age
and releasing their souls
in wisps and wavers
into a welcoming sky.
I raked the remains together
long past the time my children
left me, savoring
the work and wellness
of putting things to bed,
all the more so
in November
against banks of bloody trees
and stony sky.