Sacred Trash: A Spell
By Niall Twohig
I got two official letters
addressed to you, Da.
They said I must act
now or the State would reclaim
what’s in your accounts.
I haven’t had it in me
to go to the bank,
to show your death cert,
to claim your funds.
I scan the letters before
crumpling them:
Last contact: 11/05/2019
$52.99 in Savings
$70 in Checking
Is this what you were worth,
what you amounted to at the end?
Is that my inheritance?
No, I hear my inheritance
in the birds –
you taught me how to talk to them,
how to feed myself by feeding them,
how to find myself in their song.
I’m a rich man because of you, Da.
The State can have your last funds.
If by some miracle
let those few dollars
trickle down to some
program that feeds the poor.
And tonight, I’ll take those
two letters from the trash.
These words have made
them into sacred trash:
a reminder of what you were not.