of the canoe,
open the top,
and tip it out
over the whirlpools.
Jonah’s ashes
arc into the water.
Mom gives Dad’s ashes
to the river, too.
I already felt
Jonah’s soul,
if that’s what it was,
saying goodbye to me
in the barn
with the baby organic cow,
but now
whatever else is left
is also free.
Most of Jonah’s ashes
disappear into the whirlpools
of turning water,
but not all.
Clay would have
a physics equation
to explain
why the force of the wind
and the angle I held Jonah’s box
blew some ashes
back onto my hands.
Should we say something?
Mom asks me.
I don’t know,
I answer,
it’s up to you.
Goodbye,
Mom says,
I don’t think there’s anything wrong
with saying goodbye.
I press my stone-of-the-heart necklace
hard against my chest.
The clouds move
and the sun suddenly
lights up the whole eddy.
I reach over
the side of the canoe,
and my ashy hands
make their own swirls
in the river,
round and round,
round and round,
until even I can’t tell
what direction
they’re going.