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MEMORIAL, by                

Marie Howe’s "Memorial" is a layered meditation on grief, memory, and the complex interplay between personal loss and communal ritual. It moves fluidly between the practicalities of death—the distribution of the deceased’s belongings, the scattering of ashes—and the larger existential reflections that loss provokes. The poem does not sentimentalize death but rather presents it in stark, unembellished terms, allowing the moments surrounding it to unfold in their natural disarray.

The poem begins with an almost transactional recounting of who took what after Billy?s death: "Michael took Billy’s black leather jacket, Richard took his Polaroid camera, I’m not sure but I think Nick took a big rug." This opening signals the immediate human instinct to hold onto objects as a way of preserving a lost presence. The specificity of each item—an old belt, a photograph, a green vase—turns the absent Billy into a composite of his possessions, as if his life has been scattered into these tangible remnants.

Yet, as they scatter Billy’s ashes, the moment does not unfold with solemn finality. Instead, the ashes blow back into their faces, a grimly humorous reminder of the body’s fragility and the futility of human control. Howe resists the grandeur of memorialization, grounding the scene in the mundane frustrations and shifting dynamics of those left behind: "Michael is taking charge when Billy said I was in charge of the ashes." Even in death, power struggles persist, as the ritual of scattering ashes becomes another moment of human negotiation.

Howe juxtaposes this with the biblical story of Mary and Martha, reframing the idea of duty versus presence. Martha, burdened by the labor of feeding and caring, is frustrated that Mary has chosen to sit and listen to Jesus rather than help. "She never helped. But I love that woman slamming around the kitchen." In this moment, the poet recognizes the necessity of both roles—the doer and the contemplative, the one who tends to the physical and the one who embraces the spiritual. It is a poignant reflection on how people respond differently to grief: some seek control through action, while others surrender to the intangible.

The description of Billy’s final breaths is rendered with clinical precision and spiritual awe: "as Billy died, the space between his breaths got bigger and longer, then three quick breaths a little gurgling of breath and blood, then a long silent space—and not another breath, then one more, and that was it." Death is not romanticized but is instead given weight through its pauses, its silences. And yet, something ineffable follows: "something began to move through the room, as if energy were rising, like thickening air, as if spirit were pleasure pushing through the room." This moment acknowledges an unnamed force—whether it is simply the body releasing what it held or something more metaphysical—that fills the space left by the departed.

The shift back to the domestic sphere—James coming in from plowing, the fire being stirred—is a return to the living. Howe captures the strange liminality of grief, in which philosophical questions coexist with daily frustrations: "why don’t you make more money?" The presence of James, his tactile warmth, his hunger, contrasts with Billy’s absence, but it also anchors the speaker in the ongoing present. His simple reassurance—"Yes you do. You’ve forgotten, but you’ll remember again."—resonates as both a consolation and a command: life continues, and meaning will return.

The final lines bring the poem back to the body, to touch, to nourishment: "I’m hungry, he says. What do you want to eat?" This question, so ordinary, becomes profound in its insistence on life. Just as objects tether the dead to memory, the rituals of eating, speaking, and feeling ground the living in the reality of the present. In the end, "Memorial" is not just about Billy but about how those who remain must navigate the strange, disjointed landscape of grief—dividing up the past, questioning the present, and slowly, instinctively, moving toward the future.


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