"DaughterSounding" [original poetry]

DaughterSounding

Beach ashes of August, spit out into evening,
swirled out over October's metronome of rhythmic spray,
sea curls rounding, returning those remnants of fire
now dissolved into salt.
My father's urn of ashes and bone,
saved like a paper napkin from prom
in mother's rearranged room.
In that silence, I still hear
the ocean's heart beat on,
past life, past death, past the placing of ash
on this dusted mahogany shelf.