Ambition

The wind, cool upon my face.
The sound of a robin’s song in the tree.
The smell of fresh mowed grass.
The acrid taste of vomit lingering in my mouth.
The bright stone before me displays his name.

The emotions well within me,
and I recall his life. So full of aspiration, drive, and
ambition. His singular purpose to provide for us,
thinking nothing of his health. The love of his family diffuses
into this consuming rationale. Time spent, now gone.
Forever to end in a year after the dash.

The cold metal of the lid upon my palm.
The soft sound of weeping and the casket closing.
The smell of fresh cut flowers upon the breeze.
The taste of salty fingertips upon my lips.
Two small children laying white roses upon a mound of dirt.