If I die, bury me beneath the juniper tree

By Erin Staley

because i would like to be beautiful. bleach my bones so they will crumble to dust

when the snow falls. wrap them in white silk–the colour of the sky as it strangles the sun–

and don’t forget to eat the meat before it spoils. 

i knew you best in summer, so you will come to me for shade. i will stretch my arms around you

and whisper how easy it is to love you from the grave.

in autumn, the rain will pour down onto the deadened earth, and it will be like caressing your

cheek, oh so gently. it will be like sunset-dyed tears. i will not have to pretend to be silent and

you will not have to pretend to be deaf to the splintering of the wood. 

bursting bruises will bloom in my foliage and when you taste my bitter fruit, you will not have to

pull away. you will learn to savour me like honeycrisp apples in august. you will learn to be

satisfied.

as spring blossoms, you’ll hear the chirping in the branches. i will sing you sweet songs in the

wind and you might choose to hum along.

if i die, i will be a bird in golden plumage. you will look at me, so beautiful, and think

of flying.