I didn’t wake them. I walked to the shoreline. I knelt down and opened the tin.
I said her name.
I recited ‘Lovesong’, a poem I like a great deal but she never thought much of. I apologised for reading it and told myself not to worry.
The ashes stirred and seemed eager so I tilted the tin and I yelled into the wind
I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU
and up they went, the sense of a cloud, the failure of clouds, scientifically quick and visually hopeless, a murder of little burnt birds flecked against the grey sky, the grey sea, the white sun, and gone. And the boys were behind me, a tide-wall of laughter and yelling, hugging my legs, tripping and grabbing, leaping, spinning, stumbling, roaring, shrieking and the boys shouted
I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU
and their voice was the life and song of their mother. Unfinished. Beautiful. Everything.