FRIEND JAR.

I guessed it was a wooden jar
to pickle fruit.
steeped for ages in a familiar smell
that I mistook for a sweet smell
but was actually sick from mourning.
I have lost so many people
that I am no longer here.

dipping a spoon of ashes from each of them
from the first death to the
most recent,
then myself
and now they all die with me.

stroked by fingertips sticky
with self-neglect
dust clings to them tenderly
and takes nothing away from its polish.