by Tina Kelley

Ima put the bitch in obituary,
have a night funeral – why
aren’t these more common?
Super sad, candles, I made
the mix tape, to play hours before
dawn, then you all watch sunrise

together, like I never did because
I hate getting up early. Fill the bird
feeders and dog’s bowl before you
come. Wouldn’t it be rich if it fell
on winter solstice, with eclipse,
darkest night in 500 years!

As you file in take a packet
of forget-me-not seeds, feel
bad if you forget to plant them.
While I’m at it, bury me how I
sleep, tummy down, cozy, or
I’ll be restless, haunt you all. No,

keep me from dark graveyards,
stone surfaces flashing, reflecting
passing headlights, alive but not.
Let me be God’s ash passenger
on the Harley roaring over the GWB,
raising my ghost arms in trust

and freedom. That windy dawn,
spread my dust and fillings all
along the span. That’s joy. Save
a quarter cup to sift over my BFF
so we can dish about who’s in hell,
save four cups for the cinder blocks

of the home my husband builds next,
as some busty widow will snatch him
fast. For my son, enough for a diamond.
Plus a bunch for my daughter’s garden,
flowers that make her home look wifely,
herbs that make her hands smell of them,

basil, lemon thyme, mint, sage, oregano,
valorous beans that grow too fast to eat,
and taste sweet like the air here after rain,
and lastly, for her raspberries that hang,
free gifts, more than hands can hold.

Tina Kelley’s fifth poetry collection, Field Guide to North American Words, is expected this fall from Jacar Press, joining Rise Wildly, Abloom & Awry, Precise, and The Gospel of Galore, winner of a Washington State Book Award. A former New York Times reporter, she is the co-author of two non-fiction books, and she and her husband have two children and live in Maplewood, NJ. She’s on Facebook, BlueSky, x.com, and Instagram.