Pamela Wilson’s Poem


I don’t publish Other People’s Poems here although when Pamela Wilson sent me this poem I thought it was a good idea.  I’d like to.  Here’s her very good poem.


What poem would you write if your brother told you that every morning he woke up at 8, stayed in bed til 8:45

And then for breakfast he would sauté two mushrooms in butter, stir in some scrambled eggs and make one piece of toast.

And then he suddenly died


From a brain aneurysm


So when his belongings were being spread around and given away

all you wanted was his frying pan and spatula


And then when you were given the opportunity to chose from amongst the fabric wrapped packages of his ashes

You chose very carefully – which one to take

So you took the one that kept speaking out to you



You just had to open the packet before joining everyone else to throw it into the ocean


Sorting amongst the soft fine powder ashes

You found hard white pieces


And then you found

2 staples


And then

You the dentist sister

Found a dental crown from one of his teeth

In the packet you so carefully selected


And you knew it was tooth number 13


Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.


  1. Esther, my sister Barb shared this poem with me and I read it as we come full circle with the first anniversary of my brother, Spence’s, death. He died last year in Oaxaca after a good fight with melanoma. Melanoma won. He was not ready to die. I loved the truth in this poem and the things said that are never said…how a spatula is the thing you want, not the silver or the oriental. Well, maybe you want the oriental, but you want the spatula more.

    1. Hi Betsy, Barb told us about you and her amazing family. Very sorry about your brother Spence. This death business so much a part of This Life Business too. My friend Pamela Wilson wrote a very good poem. Glad you read it. Yours, esther

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