Father’s Ashes – Erin Jamieson

I scatter ashes into the lake

where I learned how to swim

In the misty sunlight

I remember

glossy-back swallow

perched on a branch

the only bird I remember

from tedious lessons

my father gave on walks

When he is gone I linger

shadowed silhouette

on quiet bluish gray

with touches of algae

that tangle between

my calloused toes

it’s impossible to say

where my body ends

and the shadows

begin

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Erin Jamieson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Miami University of Ohio. Her writing has been published in over eighty literary magazines, and her fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Twitter: erin_simmer