Road Trip with My Mother’s Ashes in a Business Envelope in the Glove Compartment of My Car

Your white turtleneck draped the passenger seat,

your plaid thermos of tea in the cup holder next to

my Venti iced cinnamon macchiato.

The Beatles’ White Album is on—

it’s a new car, Ma

no more cassettes. I’ve synced my iPhone with Spotify.

We can play anything you want,

I’ll blast it so you can hear it.

I’ll sing so low you can’t hear it.

Karen married a nice boy from college;

they got married in the campus chapel,

we’ll go there before we picnic along the river.

At King Arthur Baking Company, I’ll buy flour.

I still haven’t mastered your brownies;

you said the secret is in the timing

knowing impatience is my failure.

Later, we’ll drive up to the ice cream factory—

remember, your best day? The free strawberry ice cream

sample was as big as a pint, the strawberries,

almost whole, ruby red bursting with seeds.