The Ashtray

For as long as I've had memory -
recollections here and there,
that ashtray was always in your reach
and sitting by your chair.

A reject from the seventies
with odd-green swirls and lines,
truth be told, it's unattractive -
outdated by the times.

Yet this staple of your presence here
holds such strong ties you see,
because of the Grandma that you were
and the love you'd given me.

The only person in my life
who gave me hope and drive,
who wanted me when your daughter
wished I'as not alive.

The one who maintained faith in me
when I stumbled, lost, and failed,
who never lost the confidence that
one day I'd prevail.

When you passed-on the ashtray stayed -
for it was cleaned and kept,
Grandpa had it by your chair
as though you'd never left.

For eleven years it did not move
'til your daughter got the house,
When Grandpa passed she hated it
and wanted to throw it out.

I'll let you know that ugly thing
is not lost in space and time,
the ashtray that was by your chair -
it now sits next to mine.

Original Copyright © 2008 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Included in the e-book, "Walls of Shadow"
Written June 2008
About Stone...
Known in many (albeit small) online circles over the past 15 years, Stone Bryson is a poet, storyteller, and essayist. He is working on various writing projects, and lives what he describes as an 'analog life.' He resides in Jackson County, Missouri.

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