Ashes-Memento Mori

By Andrew R. Duckworth

The mark is not dirt.
My head is from dirt
And will be dirt.
The ashes are there to remember-
Remember where I’m from-
Remember where I will be-
Remember the expiration date,
If only I could read it.
Tomorrow is not promised.
Someday, I will flee this dirt.
I must flee this dirt,
The same that grew ancestors
From buds to thorny roses.
The roses withered and died
And rotted in the soil.
I must flee this dirt
To get away from it-
To find nourishment elsewhere-
From One who was never of the dirt
But of it in the way
That the gardener is not a rose
But understands its value
And harvests it from the
Thorny rose bush.