Haylee Schwenk

Haylee Schwenk has recently become acutely aware of how much love surrounds her and is grateful for many generous writers who offer community and counsel. Her work has been published in Great Lakes Review, Q/A, Sheila-Na-Gig online, Panoply, and Pudding Magazine.

Ashes

     Hand on the soft spot below my ribs
     the echo of my heartbeat

Your mother’s ashes
on the windowsill

She left us just
before white exploded on our
trees. Some moments the loss
leaves your mind then rushes back—
no shared delight in
apple blossoms.

Take a handful now
of ashes, spread them
around the roots, fold up
her certainty of ending
into our Martin Luther
apple trees.

Collect seeds
from the parsley, till
the earth, plant new.
I place my hand
between dry dirt and water
from the hose.

When it’s time
to put in onions, we’ll find
space here or there—
no strict rows—instead
setting up spring surprises
of green shoots.

Your mother’s ashes
on the windowsill

     Fingers on the underside of your wrist
     the echo of your heartbeat