My family will speak in duty
words
muted by the decision-making weight.

Burial or cremation.
Caskets, vaults, urns.
Chapel, synagogue, home.

They will dismiss my desires
as the outcome of a
diminished mind.

I prefer an aboriginal approach.
Place my unused body in the crotch
of a basswood tree.
There
Raven will dip his beak into my eyes
like the Sunday morning three-minute egg.
Eagle will find the filets in my right thigh.
Oriole will pluck and weave gray hairs
into her nest basket.
All winged ones will take their
favorite parts.

After flesh is consumed
and bones tumble
to ground,
squirrels, chipmunks, mice, voles
will mine their calcium.

When nothing is left but dust,
let the wind carry the remains
to final resting places.

Sonja Kosler is a retired broadcast and print journalist. She lives on the shore of a small west-central Minnesota lake. Her poetry has been published locally, regionally and nationally. She has been awarded several work/study grants. She is also a shamanic practitioner, an award-winning photographer and oral tradition storyteller.

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