When I die

A list of demands feels peculiar coming from the

dead, a bit like when you find a lost shopping list

lying lonely on the street, or a pinned-up notice

whispering requirements in the crowd of junk on

the local shop noticeboard. Each of them belong-

ing to the hands of a disembodied spectre, though

I suppose that factually would be correct for my

position.

I would like to be burnt to a crisp, cinders, ashes

to ashes a la David Bowie's request. This is so my

partner can smush me up into a diamond, leaving

maybe a finger or a toe to be scattered out to sea.

I would like to be a diamond so I can sit fabulous-

ly on a pinky, winking up at him as he goes about

his daily chores. Id like to let him feel the joy I felt

under every touch, every caress of his skin on mine,

A diamond is solid too, reminding him that what

is created cannot be destroyed, it merely changes

shape: like water to ice, water to steam, chocolate to

a happy belly.

To the sea with the rest of me, so i can swim with

the fish and fly with the gulls. A medium once told

me she saw me as a sea bird, and I'd like to join

them to make her right. An adventurer, eagle eyed,

the troubadour of the waves, singing their poetry

out to the cliffs, caves and sky.

By Grace Radford