Bury me backwards, upside down and in the wrong clothes.
Backwards, I can be worshipped appropriately by those I leave behind. I want to make it easier for them to offer their tangible, commemorative memories, as well as their tears at my feet. As they pass by my coffin to pay their last respects, I want to be spared the vision of their sadness, pain, and anger.
Upside down, I can see where I am going. I have no illusions of sainthood, it was never something I aspired to. Coffins are expensive, and I doubt my idiosyncrasies will abandon me in death. Traveling backwards always makes me nauseous, I wouldn’t want to ruin a carefully chosen interior.
In the wrong clothes, I can sneak up on my loved ones who went before me, kick off my afterlife with a scream and a hearty laugh. I have always had a tendency towards the dramatic, so something simple, in shades of shadow should suffice nicely, as well as lend aid to my posthumous, devious devising.
A.J. Huffman has published twelve solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. Her new poetry collections, Another Blood Jet (Eldritch Press), A Few Bullets Short of Home (mgv2>publishing), Butchery of the Innocent (Scars Publications),Degeneration (Pink Girl Ink) and A Bizarre Burning of Bees (Transcendent Zero Press) are now available from their respective publishers and amazon.com. She is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and has published over 2400 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, and Kritya. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. http://www.kindofahurricanepress.com.
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