Six Folds

Six Folds

I fold ingots out of silver coated paper;
A delicate duty for my clumsy fingers;
The thin papers too easy to tear;
The silver coating too willing to shed it’s mooring;
Not unlike his soul. Too willing to go. Too willing.

It takes six folds to form each ingot;
Six gentle creases to craft silver from paper;
Six folds to remember;
Six folds to never forget.

We’ll burn the ingots;
Sending their spirits skyward;
To him, I’m told. To buy food and comfort on his journey;
I had not realized that this is such a commercial enterprise,
That the road to heaven is lined by shop owners barking their wares;
But knowing him, he’ll negotiate a good price;
For nothing ever tasted better to him than a great deal –
A price worth bragging about over dinner
As he urged us to dig in with a big smile and gruff, generous laugh;
A gruff, generous laugh that now only echoes in our memories.

Into each fold I tuck a shared moment;
Gently sealing it in with each crease;
Six folds to remember;
Six folds to never forget.

For Baba. May your journey be blessed.

Be well,

Monty

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