The train conductress stopped a step
too far away to stamp the ticket
and looked at me confused.
A silent moment
a wrinkle on her forehead
before she asked where I had left you
since you were always on the train
when I was too.
I whispered that you are with me
[but this time neither by my legs
as in our best years
nor in your buggy on a mattress
to spare your worn-out hip joints pain:
this last ride you could have a seat]
and nodded at the bag at my side
therein a rose and ashes in the urn.