On The Day I Die

Let there be snakes,magnificent and smooth, slithering all around

in their silent dance, coming from

the direction where all things begin.

Let there be music:

sensual, and from places where the poets still

remember to surrender to the curves

and twirls of ink on the paper.

Let there be silence.

Long enough for every person gathered together

to have the opportunity to look

inside, to start brushing with depth.

Let there be stories,

for they are all that matters. The one when I left

the eggs gathered from my aunt's chicken coop

in my coat pocket and realized

hours later at the grocery store,

my hand inadvertently covered in the gooey substance.

And the stories of endless laughter,

of days and dreams engulfed by false friendships

during my drinking years,

of lovers too much married to give me

what I needed.

And the spell-writing stories at night,

with my window open on the cornfields

and on the dark sky of the world.

Let there be no regrets.

Not even for the hardest of times

or the stubbornness of my young self.

Certainly not for the intolerable pain that helped me

grow, and taught me how to love.

Let there be children.

May they be barefoot and wear their absolute

favorite outfit and dance around wildly

in the rain. May there be grandchildren too,

small and plump, enchanted

by the little feathers they find on the road.

Let there be witches.

So many witches, dead and alive,

from all over the world.

My beloved sisters.

They will dance and sing my name,

burn dried plants, and draw symbols

with the smoke

under the weeping trees. They will know

exactly what to say and what to bring.

Let them do it all.

Let there be more snakes, because they are

the greatest teachers of my life,

my faithful and always present companions.

Wrap my body in their shed skins, cover it with

their endless spines that create bridges

to the liminal,

and with words from the other world,

tales told in the forked

tongue of ancient truth.

Let there be poetry, and let there be tears,

fat and warm, last gifts flowing

deliciously on the cheeks of the most beautiful faces

I've ever seen.

And let there be

love-making in the dark woods.

Let there be everything truly worth living for,

on the day I die.