He travels with half his mother’s ashes across the sea, to the other place she lived away from him, her East-West selves grounded in a storied geography: Here is the river I knew as a girl— That’s the town where I met him— her voice a swirl of distant sounds he knows he will forget. He thinks “ dust to dust” a poor cliché, the grains he now carries more like seeds to be planted: which one would open in July with a bloom the size of her fist, which would grow straight then bend as if to lift a child who looks like him? —by Laurel Smith Bio: Laurel Smith lives in Vincennes, Indiana, and happily participates in projects to promote literacy and the arts. Her poetry has appeared in various periodicals, including Natural Bridge, New Millennium Writings, Tipton Poetry Review, Flying Island, English Journal, JAMA: Journal of the AMA; also in the following anthologies: And Know This Pla ce, Visiting Frost , and Mapping the Muse .
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.