Ash Wednesday

I lift my mother’s urn high to show her the places she’d never seen inside the house when she was alive. I’m showing her the top shelves of her wardrobe, the food cabinet. I carry her upstairs. I place the urn on my brother’s top bunk, assuring her that he’ll return. That she needn’t worry. I grab a palmful of her ashes and scatter it along the walls as if to ward off an unwelcome spirit. I pour her down the drain like bad wine. I bury her in our neighbor’s yard. I pray she takes root and returns anew.