Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes

Dust to dust.
We become again that
from which we were formed.
Shall I devolve into dust bunnies?
Am I a cobweb of airborne dust
linked like thin strands of DNA
lost up there in a ceiling corner?
Perhaps I will settle upon my books
whose spines would wait so long
for me to give them supine relief.
Some say that a home’s dust is
made of skin cells peeled away
from us so casually every day.
So, I have settled into the vents
that breathe air in and out
of these everyday electronics,
winding up on a motherboard
or other parts to slow things down.
I am settled too on the picture frames,
and you may take your finger and rub
it across the flat glass atop a photo
even though you can see us just fine.
Then brush off your fingertips with
your skin’s friction to clean them:
My dust ascends with yours in the air.

Ronnie Sirmans is an editor at The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. His poems have appeared in The South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, and elsewhere.

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