Last Wishes

So my friend, the editor, the one living on South Street or Place, the quiet one with the ruddy skin and the cornsilk hair... he asked me to write his will over Skype, you know, because he prefers to keep his distance and the peace and the quiet. Says he's having a big birthday this year, whatever that means because those green drinks reverse the aging process.

Anyway, he says he needs to get his affairs in order.

And fast.

So I sat down in the black chair, high back, which still needs to be adjusted because carpal tunnel, ergonomics, procrastination, and started taking notes on Post-its again because I'm out of legal pads.

"What do you want it to say?"

"The usual. And I want to be cremated. Stuff me into pellets and shoot me out of one of their torture tech contraptions, some goddamn drone or something. I want my ashes to rain down so thickly on Los Angeles people have to turn on their windshield wipers to clear it."

Photo: Los Angeles Half Hour Before Sunset (Thomas Pintaric) 

Glorious Fill

Shards from beauty torn

What can I bring?

Grieving daughter and scarred flesh

Locusts and lost time

Scorched seed worn down

Nearly buried

And yet—

my Hurt, His blessing

tumor and violence cooled the blood but NOTHING is refused!

Every thirst and every need

Brimming full

The giver reaps bounty from her want

O, Generous Grace

(Source: Brot-und-Fische-Mosaik by Grauesel via Wikimedia Commons