Rosalee

To the archaeologist that may dig up this grave someday,

These ashes,

In their pastel tin

Wrapped with silhouettes of lighthouses,

Were once my grandmother

A mother

Daughter

Sister

Veteran

Adventurer

Embodiment of resilience.

On the day that we

Laid her to rest

The wind in the pines

Sounded just like waves on the shore

Nearly 1,000 miles away

And the ocean arrived

To say goodbye

One last time.

So please,

Know that this grave,

This tin,

Within the minerals

That were once stardust,

And have now been interred in the earth,

Holds a woman

Whose story you will never know

And whom I am asking

You handle with tender care.

With great expectations,

A grieving granddaughter