It’s falling heavily now, as they said it would, in splashing thuds against the northern windows, brutally, as if it would break and enter.
They buried you, without us. My memory contains the top of your head, a lifesaver I spat into the middle, my legs wrapped around
We took turns tossing your ashes with a cup— purple violets, a spring flower, hardy, despite seeming frail—though I reached in to touch your