Ashes

When I died, those who knew me best gathered and remembered me. Intimately.

Sometimes they chuckled. Often they whispered. They told stories I'd have never recalled, from viewpoints I could never have known. They spoke of me in such detail, and so carefully, I almost felt alive again.

Each one in his way or her way knew me well and would miss me. If my skin and hair could have felt the flames of the oven that erased my bones, their love would have made it bearable.

My dear, none of them knew about you. My delicious secret, I held you until the end of my days. No one ever knew or could imagine the forces you stirred in me.

Some were told but none believed: After the oven cooled, my ashes were still glowing.