Don’t paint me and lay me out
Like some grotesque waxen doll.
Don’t put me in a box and lower me
In the ground only be dug up
A thousand years from now.
No – wrap me in a blanket
And give my clothing to strangers
Then leave me high in a tree
To feed the ravens and the vultures
Like the Indians used to do.
Or better yet, burn me in a funeral pyre
Pile it higher and higher
Until the flames touch the sky.
Invite my friends to come around
And roast marshmallows.
Then put my ashes in a cardboard box
And carry me to a high mountain lake
Then scatter me in the wind to soar
Among the hawks and jays before drifting down
To fertilize the trees.
Contributor’s Note: I am a perpetual student, although not constantly. I havethree years of Environmental Science, an AA in Child Development, and am presently the Secretary/Treasurer of a family-owned business. I am married and the mother of two grown sons. I presently live in Trona, CA.
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