WILL AND TESTAMENT
I want to be buried under timber and rock
like Caeneus was. I’ll be immune to weapons,
even once they find original female, soft
in the wrong places, scarred. Leave me in
a woods somewhere quiet, let my ribs
rattle with the woodpecker’s industry.
Let the heavens fade lilac to orange on
the longest night. I’ll leave you candles.
May raccoons walk their spidery prints all
over the dirt, may berries sprout
magic. I leave you my pleasure and joy
for which I worked so hard. I wish you
lusty longing and rapt attention. Though
the twiggy lean-to off the trail is not my
property to transfer, I hope you find it.
I offer you my bright dumb
hopes for democracy. May your vote always
be counted. Your body was made
to shift shape. Seek to serve. Come visit me where
pines loop, tell me joy you’re having. Tangible form. Isn’t it amazing
the golden needles dropped,
how they leave a pad
on the ground
for your tent? Grove
my body once— look what happened after.
Photograph of Oliver Baez Bendorf courtesy of Oliver Baez Bendorf.