Ashes

[makeshift]

You're powder now
like the stuff mom puts on her face,
or like late November snow
that struggles to hide
amber leaves.

Maybe you're just the teeth
that used to chew
Thanksgiving dinners.
I wonder what the dentist did
with the bits of you he stole—
your wisdom.

Maybe you're skin
dust still floating
in the living room,
unveiled by a sliver of sun.

Maybe you're a white orb,
the secrete of a photograph—
a perfect circle.

Maybe you're the bedbugs
that might be on the old couch
we probably shouldn't touch.
With bleach you'll die soon enough,
and maybe you'll be you again.

[ChristopherSea]

Overall, I like this poem a lot. It’s my favorite of the week. Here are some observations and reactions to your piece:

On first read, I was not sure of all the 'maybe's, but with subsequent reads they appeared to settle into the background. In the first stanza you could replace the ‘amber’ (although colorful) with something more significant. I was thinking ‘vestigial’ or ‘lingering.'


In stanza two, ‘that chewed’ might suffice. 


‘Dentist/he stole’ rings a bit off. What about, ‘he pulled’. It might play well with ‘your wisdom’. 


In stanza three ‘skin dust’ could be replaced and be more accurate with ‘dander.’


In stanza 4 do you really want ‘secrete’ as in ‘secretion’? If so, ‘secretion' may fare better.


In your closing stanza, ‘bedbugs’ seems inaccurate for your couch. I think ‘dust mites’ would be more apropos. 


Also, I am uncertain about ‘bleach’ for your disinfectant. ‘insecticide’ or ‘pesticide’ or something in that vein 
might work better and save the couch.


Finally, your title may not incorporate your theme as well as it could. Some other dusty synonym 
like ‘particles’ or ‘residue’ may work. See what you think.


All in all a fine piece, I hope you find something useful in this critique for your next edit.

Cheers/Chris

[billy]

lots to like here. the opening starts the poem off with two similes, well done. the rest of the poem is just a good. i like how the dead person can be almost anything. for me it's a poem with a lot of hope in the last stanza.

You're powder now
like the stuff mom puts on her face,i wonder if a different simile would work better, something ash coloured.
or like late November snow not sure the 2nd like is needed here
that struggles to hide
amber leaves.

Maybe you're just the teeth
that used to chew
Thanksgiving dinners. great three lines, for some reason i see humour in them
I wonder what the dentist did
with the bits of you he stole— i thought if pulled would be better and then thought maybe not.
your wisdom. this line made me think [not] about the above line. for me it gives a hint at a debilitating illness. perhaps one of forgetfulness.

Maybe you're skin
dust still floating
in the living room,
unveiled by a sliver of sun.

Maybe you're a white orb,
the secrete of a photograph—
a perfect circle.

Maybe you're the bedbugs
that might be on the old couch
we probably shouldn't touch.
With bleach you'll die soon enough,
and maybe you'll be you again.

[71degrees]

You're powder now
like the stuff mom puts on her face,
or like late November snow
that struggles to hide
amber leaves.

Maybe you're just the teeth
that used to chew
Thanksgiving dinners.
I wonder what the dentist did
with the bits of you he stole—
your wisdom.

Maybe you're skin
dust still floating
in the living room,
unveiled by a sliver of sun.

Maybe you're a white orb,
the secrete of a photograph—
a perfect circle.

Maybe you're the bedbugs
that might be on the old couch
we probably shouldn't touch.
With bleach you'll die soon enough,
and maybe you'll be you again.

The repetition of "maybe" lends itself to "...ashes to ashes" quite well.  Some poems are more readable.  This lends itself to that arena.  I like that you "know" what YOU are but still take the time to pause and reinvent for others who might not have known YOU.  The dentist bit is wonderful.  Ending with "bedbugs" and "bleach" and an "old" couch presents the reader with the other side of the teeter-totter...maybe YOU weren't as great as you once remembered.  Time does that, doesn't it?

Great read.  There's Alzheimer's written all over this, especially the last line (at least for me).  Nicely done.