They should have left something of
themselves besides ashes, he thought.
Tea leaves can be read; ashes can’t.
Visual artists leave something. His
two favorite professors of English
should have left a book or two in-
stead of a few articles in journals
long gone to dust. Ashes to ashes
and dust to dust. He could have
looked up at the books and said,
“There’s John on the left and Dirk
on the right.” He could take them
down from the shelf, brush them off
and listen once again to their wise,
witty words. John left him a ring,
which was stolen. Nada from Dirk.
Memories fade. They should have
written a book or two maybe with a
personal inscription, for sure with
a personal inscription.