HOW I LEFT IT
Shall I compare thee to a summoning day?
Wherefore art thou, morphine drip?
Death, be not proud… nor painful.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high, I.
How that corpse got into my pajamas, I dunno.
Don’t forget your parting gift as you exit
the chapel, a little bit of Amy as a souvenir.
Am I still bipolar now that I’m dead, and does that mean
I can spend half my time haunting people who sucked?
Reports of my death will be greatly exaggerated, because
I’m just THAT special.
Rock stars die in plane crashes, but poets die with a phrase
that just came to mind, whispering, “Where’s my journal…?”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For We Write Poems, asking for our epitaph. (Also at my poetic “resting place,” Poets United!) I’m having my ashes put into doggie bags and distributed to mourners on their way to the post-funeral party at a cheesy bar, with notes to each on where to scatter bits of me. Part to Blanche’s stomping grounds, Council Bluffs. Part into the confluence of the Chenango and Susquehanna Rivers in Binghamton, and a pinch of me dumped into the spiedie sauce at Sharkey’s Bar… Matt Sweeney will get that assignment, no doubt. Carolyn will have Duncan to varnish a bit of me onto her harp used in playing at hospices. Christopher will sneak me into the old Pavarotti dressing room at the Met. Joseph will toss me off the Brooklyn Bridge; Colette gets Venice Beach duty. Walt will sift me onto the floor of the Anchor Bar in Buffalo; Nimue will keep me in a little pill box until she feels a good sneeze coming on, while Viv will sew me into the batting of one of her quilts.
Lex and Riley will be sent on a voyage to San Juan, to Bermuda, and to other places far and wide, so they will have time to talk about stuff. Marcia and Jesse will join them for the Venice Canal tossing; Greggie will take me to 6th and Wilshire, the site of the old Great American Food & Bev. Co. I’m thinking of sending my Republican relatives tea bags filled with… no, that would be mean. And it would taste nasty! Peace, Amy
July 20, 2012 at 3:34 am
Good stuff Amy!
July 20, 2012 at 6:37 am
I shall be delighted, Amy, but I’m going first! A splendid write and a riotous read!
July 20, 2012 at 2:04 pm
Amy what a creative thought–I love the idea of pieces of you everywhere. And a perfect writer’s ending! Also love the tea bag idea–almost snorted my morning tea out my nose when I read that–
July 20, 2012 at 3:29 pm
Yup! Funny and right on.
July 20, 2012 at 3:32 pm
July 20, 2012 at 5:35 pm
Really, off the Brooklyn? I’d think you’d want them off the Christopher St. Pier or something. But I’m happy to oblige. 🙂
July 21, 2012 at 4:21 pm
Sherry Blue Sky
July 21, 2012 at 4:54 pm
A glorious write, and I enjoyed the after remarks just as much……..the teabag idea. OMG. Hilarious. Anyway, not for decades. Too much good writing to do yet!
July 21, 2012 at 6:45 pm
You went riot with this one Amy. But but you know when we’re talking death how can we embrace so much sadness except with much sangfroid. What is the word for forever again?
July 21, 2012 at 8:21 pm
July 22, 2012 at 2:06 am
My last thoughts will surely be “I forgot to write that down”.
July 22, 2012 at 8:16 am
Another brilliant write♫
July 22, 2012 at 8:18 am
Been away for a while and am so glad I’m back. Loved this one.
July 22, 2012 at 9:24 pm
A bit morbid writing your own epitaph I thought. But funny too, Amy! Tea-bags? LOL
July 23, 2012 at 5:06 pm
Not a bad idea to write our own epitaph before we move on.
July 25, 2012 at 10:30 pm
`haunting people who suck’ – could be a perk of being bi-polar. Excellent work.