Next week, I think I will just stop being me for a while.
Do not have a funeral, shed not a single tear.
If you do want a glimpse of me,
I will be in Argentina,
lying on the forest floor.
First, the ground will start to munch and swallow my shoulders.
There will be rain.
Lots of it.
Gently poking my belly.
Then things with many eyes and even more legs
will explore the backs of my knees,
my swollen toes, and my ears.
The animals in charge will pass by
to lick the salt from my cheeks.
After a few days, the sky will have turned me over and over and
pressed me into Earth.
Only my nose will stand tall
and when I take my last breath of warm soil,
I will come back,
greener and softer than before.
Healed.