Ashen

at high noon
on a clear day that felt like spring
the family walked into an old church
with light flooding through tall windows
to remember death

“You are dust,
and to dust you shall return”

the toddler balked
resisted the imposition
but her little sister was asleep
and so received the cross-shaped smudge
on her flawless forehead

a tiny life, brand new
yet undeniably fragile
dust, returning to dust

thanks be to God

and the father
thinking of her brother, already gone to dust
leaned into his own smear
jaw aquiver, eyes filling with tears

all of us, dust
returning to
dust

and when the final ‘amen’ was said
the toddler danced
and sang a little song

ring around the rosie
pocket full of posies
ashes, ashes
we all fall down