Poem read at first ashes ceremony at Mt. Cheaha

Sunday afternoon I went with Mandy, David, James, Sondra, Ellie, Lexie, Leo, Sam and Ken to Cheaha were we spread some of her ashes. This is the poem I read:


Cheaha Mountain

For David


There. The hawk is framed for one second
in the open sun roof, and then, the car speeding,
it's lost beyond and into the mists
above the green mountain. We're climbing
at the start of Winter, outback music
pulsing through the car's speakers. Long hair
frames your face, my son, and soon,
at the top, we park. The dog jumps from the car
and while I walk with her, you climb even higher
into an old stone tower where I know you can see
dark clouds rolling through the valley. I turn up
my collar, my bare head cold. I breathe,
think of moments, try to fathom life,
fearing my own drifting. You've brought me here
where cold stone juts out, Bald Rock,
here where green lifts from the cradled town.
The owl hooting in the wooded lot beside my room.
The altar where egret feather settles
between blue stones. Coffee's aroma
drifting from the kitchen where my husband
stirs the last spices into a meal he hopes
will cure me. At home I sit, knees beneath my chin,
and breathe Maranatha. Maranatha,
remember the haunting outback strains,
your head leaning as you turn and point
to another hawk, the way you never judge
my despair, never doubt that I am alive now.
Your hair blowing, your eyes squinting to find the hawk
because you know he's what I need: the lift of wing,
the spread, the turn over the mountain.

Susan Herport Methvin
1-7-97