Talking To My Father Whose Ashes Sit In A Closet And Listen

by Lisa Zaran

Death is not the final
Without ears, my father still listens,
still shrugs his shoulders
whenever I ask a question he doesn't want to answer.

I stand at the closet door, my hand on the knob,
my hip leaning against the frame and I ask him
what does he think about the war in Iraq
and how does he feel about his oldest daughter
getting married to a man she met on the internet,

Without eyes, my father still looks around.
He sees what I am trying to do, sees that I
have grown less passive with his passing,
understands my need for answers only he can provide.

I can imagine him, drawing a breath, sensing
his lungs once again filling with air, his thoughts ballooning.