When I die,
then bury me
under a lilac.
Use your hands
to claw through the topsoil.
Get it under your nails.
Don’t worry about your manicure
or the mess
Bury me under a lilac.
Maybe the one in the Sisters’ garden,
or my brother-in-law’s back yard,
or maybe, if you’re sneaky,
that one in the park
on the corner of North and something.
Maybe under your own.
But bury me under a lilac.
Dig the hole deep enough to hold my ashes,
shallow enough to let my spirit breathe,
wide enough for my memories.
You know I don’t believe
in leaving things behind.
Keep all of me in one, good place.
Cradle my remains in the palm of your hand,
sift them through your fingers as you drop me into Earth,
feel the softness that is death,
and do not despair.
I’m coming back as a lilac,
and lilacs smell like heaven.
Copyright January 19, 2014