Half my sister’s ashes
sit on my bookshelf
the thought flashes regularly
that I must fulfil her wishes
and bury her with our parents
let her out of the camel-shaped teapot
my favourite of her collection
and which bore her back from Ireland
disguising the grey substance
which is, unbelievably, half of her remains.
I think it is the distance to Dorset
which has held me back
from letting the once genial
out of the teapot.
The teapot will remain
ornamentally
on my bookshelf
to use my sister’s sometime sepulchre
to make tea might be
a step too far for a brother
though it would have made his sister
laugh like a drain…
© Andrew Wilson, 2024
Posted on dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night hosted by Grace.
I adore this poem.
So glad you liked it Di – I do too…
Thanks for the personal glimpse of the teapot with the remains of your sister. It would be spook me out but fulfilling her wishes may bring a closure. Thanks for joining in. Happy weekend.
People often seem to bring their loved ones home in an urn of some sort which seems far too formally memorialising to me, like having a gravestone on your shelf – the fact that half my sister now resides in her favourite (and mine) teapot, feels much more normal somehow, and even when her ashes are buried and the teapot just an exotic teapot again, it will always have a special association – an object of reminder not just of her death but very much her life.
Thanks for visiting Grace.
Like Di, I adore this poem. It is so personal, and yet you’ve made it universal, too, with the connection to the loved one at the forefront of the reluctance to finalize the request.
My brother is in two urns that will ultimately go to his daughters (my niece-daughters) when they are ready for him. The urns do seem too formal for him, but that’s the way he came to me in this form… so for fun, I move him around, and talk to him. He was even in a picture in a recent post. Like your sister, he would laugh like a drain.
Perhaps you could bury her with your parents in the teapot?
Thank you again for your openness and vulnerability. Processing the death of a sibling takes years and this poetry looks like a healing step.
Sometimes the length of the comments reveals when you have touched a universal theme and in our age of cremation, dealing with the ashes of a loved one is one of those things. Thank you for your kind comment Kim…
Love the light-hearted way you approached this beautifully crafted poem. Most of my mother’s ashes rest in a beautiful hand-painted ceramic cookie jar, carried back to the US by my firstborn son ~~ from Mexico City!! I look at it/her every day, perched on a table in our living room. I carried out my sisterly duty, purchasing small urns for both sisters. I also scattered a few over my father’s grave and my step-father’s grave. Whew! Mother would approve.
Thanks Helen. When leaving Ireland after the funeral, the ashes having just returned from the crematorium, we were searching around for a suitable container and I remembered that I had wanted to have the teapot so her partner and I divided the ashes – he had his instructions as to where to put his half and I had mine. Given my sister’s character it was a fitting and suitably light-hearted vessel…
“and which bore her back from Ireland
disguising the grey substance”
This makes me wonder. Disguised intentionally? Your choice of the word disguised fascinates me.
I like your (I assume) wordplay here
“from letting the once genial
out of the teapot.” Like a genie in a bottle.
And “sometime sepulchre”. Clever phrasing. If you decide to use the camel tea pot, no judgement here. Perhaps don’t tell your guests.😆
Disguised? Perhaps smuggling past grief…
Definitely intentional wordplay!
What fun it would be to serve tea and then tell guests the story…
I remember when my mother brought the ashes of my father in an urn arriving on train only to go to the place where it is resting… a few years later we brought my mother there with my grandparents and uncle… a Columbarium is the best place I think.
I have never heard of ” a Columbarium” but I will look it up Björn…
We don’t keep the ashes at home. They are immersed in the Ganges (or in any river) within thirteen days of death. So I find it very fascinating that ashes are kept at home. I love the affectionate and light-hearted tone of your poem.
One must surely celebrate a person in death as in life, and one facet of my sister was definitely light-hearted. My parents have a small stone in a churchyard near where they lived and such a stone and place is a place to go and remember although it is not necessary to have it for remembrance, but once in a while…
On the other hand, I like the idea of being borne away on the tide of a great river – another final adventure… Thanks Punam