A Death Wish
a poem
And when I die one still distant, I hope, day,
may it be in late Spring,
when mountains unfold
their mesmerizing flower glam,
and arrowleaf balsamroot
in full boom
struts the hills herself.
And at my funeral,
may all of Earth come alive,
may bees and dragonflies dance
to the rhythm of crickets’ drums,
to the singing flutter of hummingbirds’ wings,
to the babbling of nearby brooks’ streams,
and to the frogs’ skipping rocks,
protesting —
ribbit! ribbit!
And then,
I’d also like for the Sun to come out,
and warm up the earth,
make it fluffy, cozy, and light,
the way my mother made my bed,
and please, open all windows,
let fresh, gentle breeze in
to sweep any remnants of my breath,
and carry them back to the stars.
At my funeral,
I’d also like to hear you sing (no matter how bad)
as eagles circle the ground,
and sparrows’ chatter in gossip,
spreading naughty tweets
across the sky,
curiously investigating the process,
from every vantage and branch
of young saplings,
and centuries-old trees.
Do not be sad!
For I now have weeping willows and birches,
and birds,
and the wind caught in their crowns and wings,
shimmer and bring news of you;
They are my helpers now; My fine company.
Their sounds lull,
and ease my body
into the clay, and the clay
gently disassembles me —
the sum of parts,
returning back
each borrowed element,
one-by-one,
to nurture the living.
Rejoice!
I will always be around, even if
no longer in the form you have known thus far —
We are all stardust.
Have a wondrous life!
