Graves of ashes

My father has never been laid to rest,
His name left upon no tombstone,
There is no memorial to remember him by,
Or marble to weather the ages.
More than seven years have passed,
An entire body’s rebirth,
And his ashes remain in a box on the mantle.
This obstinate stance is pitiful,
Though this vigil deserves memorial.

My shadow dog lies in the hallway
With a tumor in his spleen,
His sleeping body trembling
With the cold grasp of what is imminent.
He’s stopped eating,
And since we cannot let him starve,
Soon Smiley will join my father
In a grave of ashes.
We’ve already decided it will be cremation,
To spread him in his favorite park.
He will die, then, and not die,
Every time we take the others to Walnut Creek.

Handsome rests his head between my akimbo arm
And hip. It’s as if we’re both
Refusing to let him die alone.
As evening grows quieter,
With only the scratching on the dogs and shaking of tags to break it,
He is not letting his allergies interfere with the mourning.
We sit like this until morning.