Sorting The Ashes

I'll welcome any and all things you find to make this poem comfortable for the reader.  I've wrestled with deleting stanzas three and five... still wrestling... Dewell

SORTING THE ASHES

Grandma wants to sort out my ashes
after she cleans them up some.
Good deeds here, bad deeds there, lots
of in between stuff; things I did
that don't make no difference.

None of her kith or kin will
see the Pearly Gates with dirty
doings in their urn, not if she
can sift and sort the remains
of their wayward ways.

Where she gets the power to know
all this stuff, find it in the ashes,
sort it into little piles, I'll never know.
Yet the whole clan stands by in black
silence not daring to speak up.

Grandma decides who gets the leavings
after St. Pete and Satan gets their likes.
Might be each of my kids gets a
smidgen of me to grace their mantle,
collect dust, spill to the hearth.

When I die, please
don't let Grandma sort my ashes.

     Dewell H. Byrd

Dewell, this is a gem of an idea.  I agree on farewell to stanzas 3 and 5.

What I miss in this poem is stronger rhythm.  When I read it aloud, I misread the the first part like this:

Grandma wants to sort my ashes
after she cleans them up.
Good deeds here, bad deeds there,
lots of in between stuff.

I admit I'm on a jukin'-n-jivin' poetic spree in my own writing, but ... I kinda want that in such a cool, folky topic as Grandma picking through a man's ashes like they were dry beans.

Dewell

This is a fun poem.  I get a bit conflicted when deciding if the persona is alive or not.  I am not sure if the persona's ashes go to the Pearly Gates or stay on earth.  I am such a dualist that if satan gets some and St. Pete gets some, what's left for the family to take home?

I am not sure if "sort" is the strongest verb for line one.  Maybe one that hints more to the doling out of the persona's remains to family members.

Todd

I smiled my way through it.   I know nothing about sorting ashes, but I know about sorting dried beans, getting the unwanted rocks? charcoal? bad beans?  out of the pile of good beans.  I have spread ashes before:  there are always chunks of bone mixed into the gray ash.  It's interesting if you push the feelings aside.  : )  Grandma is obviously in charge and no one is going up against her thinking.   It is a fun poem.  I like:   in black silence, the detail of piles.  Might want to change not daring to to scared. . . making it more alliterative.  I'd give up the last stanza.
Grandma:  is she planning, wanting or asking to sort the ashes?  Sounds experienced.  : )  I like Karen's idea of making it more musical because it is folksy.   You already have it sort of like that.  : )   Dewell, I think of your Abe Lincoln poem.   it has that folksy sound.   You also have a couple of others that do.   I say:  let it rest and come back to it.  It has such great potential.  I'd choose either heavenly/hellish doling or earthly doling.  Otherwise, it is a little confusing.  This may be about too many players?  Not sure.