-among the perennials-

If I'm to be buried

temporarily preserved full-bodied,

to what plot of ground
shall I be lowered?

the grave will need an opening

and to accomplish permanence, a closing.

only then will friends and family,
I presume, show-up.

a private site in the city's cemetery
by its very nature will be pastoral
with identified species of trees,
a rolling landscape
and plenty of manicured pathways
leading to specifically selected occupants.

the gates of these places are usually
ornate and overstated,

erected in heavy cast-metal
swung on powerful hinges.

but only the living come and go.

there's no room where my father
and my mother rest in peace,
her enclosure laid over his

and further, there's no "poet’s corner"
to bid me welcome, and if there was
I wouldn’t make the cut.

maybe there’s an uncluttered place
in upstate New York available,
or perhaps a narrow slot in the crowded

cemetery close to home where
Lizzie Borden stays.

the rich have generations
of plotted family,

potted and buried like the roots of plants
which will not grow.

maybe I'll lie as resident among
the murdered,
among those who've killed them
and among the dusts of priests who once
presided over their burials.

maybe I'll rest near the running
brook among friends.

what spot of land will have what's left of me
to dwell among the perennials?