The Moya View

Pushing the Needle

My father wasn’t 
the kind of man
to let his ashes just
blow in the wind.

He spent his life
trying to push him-
self through needles.

At his celebration
of life, I watched
as his ash drifted
down through the
smallest cracks.

The poor man
would have
been pleased.

Then, the sea
tasted his embers
and scattered him
amongst the waves
breaking on the beach.





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