Cinder and Smoke

I planted a cherry tree on your grave. The petals falling looked like snow, and the fruit was always sweeter than any from the store. As I was growing up I brought my problems to you, and if I was very quiet sometimes the wind rustling the leaves sounded like you whispering to me. I always brought my boyfriends to meet you, but I only told one of them the real significance of the tree. When he proposed to me beneath the branches of your tree the wind whipped a flurry of blossoms from its branches. I took it as your blessing, and I was glad that you approved. When I married we held the ceremony in your shade, and when I thanked you the cherry tree bowed down as if you were listening.
The summer that mum died was the last time any cherries grew, but you still gave me the fragrant snow of falling blossoms.