Our backyard seems a little bare these day.
Has your work stolen you and kept you from home,
or is that bare spot where we planned our beautiful garden,
remind you too much of how you plucked me
too early from my life, and buried me deep.
You've left me alone, but I've made friends.
The worms, the beetles and the blowflies
keep me company here, while you're away.
They help me keep time; their life cycles prosper
and flourish in the wake of my decaying cells.
They asked me to say thank you.
I've had a lot of time to think down here,
and I want one last favor from you.
You left me here, with only the bugs for company,
but I want something beautiful, something better
than this patch of dirt you left for my memory.
Plant me some white lilies
and red roses over
that plain mound of dirt.
Their roots will grow and twist.
until they wrap around my skin
become my veins
and hold my bones.
You owe me that, at least.