I have risen from my husband's ashes,
brushed off the grey soot, blinked into the light.
What once seemed impossible is now reality through the steady passage of time.
And always the talking, talking, talking.
My wings are bigger and stronger than before.
I have taken flight into a new life.
A psychological adaptation made physical.
It feels good to fly, to flee grieving, to embrace life again.
Our children are growing too and spreading their wings.
We occasionally circle the grave site
bringing sticks and flowers
to feather his nest, to shower our love, to show that we have not forgotten and never could.
Life goes on always sounded discordant, but now it's harmonious, it's alright, I have heard his voice in the darkness.
All our wingtips are touching eternally.
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