Winter 2025 - Vol. 22, Issue 1

A dust of snow covers your columbarium niche,
it’s a double-wide—
enough for two.

I splurged,
used up my savings,
then yours.

There was an upgrade for the lakeview.
I thought you'd like that.
Though, if I’m honest, it’s my preference—
when I visit you now
and later, when I join you.

There wasn’t much left in your account,
just enough for next month’s rent,
sufficient for eternal proximity
to a man-made lake
with a floating fountain
and a thicket of planted reeds.

It’s too cool now
for the lapwings and redshanks,
but a pair of mallards has made a permanent home here.
Come spring, there might even be ducklings.

If I brush the flakes away,
I’ll see your name in the etched marble—
without the glaze of white powder between us.
I wonder if it might feel real.
That you’re gone,
That I couldn’t save you.

I pull my hand back,
let it hover—
like melancholy, like conversations we never had.

Here, where you rest,
the snow will dissolve,
and the seasons will shift.
The sun will reflect off the lake,
the moonlight will descend on it,
and later, darkness will flatten the gentle waves into sleep.