Dancing with Ashes Sestina

When I was young, I would go down to Pete’s Corner with my mother.
She would order herself a beer, while Shirley Temple was my drink.
After a few suds were thrown back, a coin was slipped into the juke box,
And in the sawdust we would dance, and dance, and dance.
Those nights were a magical release
From a life that was otherwise in ashes.

The stress of bad relationships, heaped like discarded butts and ashes,
Was the only countenance I recognized on my mother.
From unwanted children and piling debts she sought release
And found comfort in cigarettes and drink.
Through the welfare system she would dance,
While legal summons landed in the waste-paper box.

All her affections she kept tightly boxed
’Til her pallor became white as ashes.
Then it was time to head down to Pete’s for a dance.
Around and around I would go with my mother
And from her alcohol-induced freedom I would drink
Like a jailed bird upon sudden release.

Then in May came her long sought release,
When the social worker, with all my clothes in boxes,
Took me from school and gave me the bitter drink.
Like Job sitting in sack cloth and ashes,
I was alone without friend, family, or mother
And wishing my heart would just stop its dance.

In time I relearned how to love and dance,
With my anger and sadness released.
After forty years I received a call regarding my mother,
A question pertaining to the box
Which held her cremated ashes.
I was numb as if intoxicated by drink.

So I took my mother to the bar for a drink.
And with her box had one more dance.
Then with a final release, I lovingly scattered her ashes.