Where Will I Be When I Ain't?

I am not down with cremation. The idea of being that uselessly broken down so that loved ones can keep me on their mantle or sprinkle me on their gravy makes me shiver.

What really bothers me about incineration is that the dusty gray pile you'll be keeping in a tasteful and discrete vase isn't even all me. See, when they put you in that oven, you are actually in a cardboard box, or occasionally, a full blown coffin.

My poetry teacher was telling me about how she had to spread one of her friend's ashes. The woman's remains filled at least five cardboard boxes. To the brim. My teacher told me that this made no sense as her friend was no more the five feet tall. She deduced that her friend must of burnt up in a really hefty container since, in life, her friend could not have fit into five cardboard boxes, erm, whole-style.

(And I always thought cremation was about compact-ness.)

Anyway, I just don't want to get all mixed up like that. I am preoccupied with keeping my mortal coil in one piece.

Put me in the ground, and the let the worms and moles take care of me. Let me make somebody's grass green. Put me in your garden. Let me be under everybody's feet sinking into the rest of the world. I prefer the idea of roots wrapping around my disintigrating bones and fillings. Eventally, I will be dust, but I want a slow leisurely disappearence. I don't think I could nourish anyone just by floating Pompeii-style, through the stratosphere.

I am so preoccupied about keeping myself together post-mordem that I almost don't want to donate my organs. But since I am not an entirely selfish being I really would give up my kidney ot my liver, or my whatever else your poor child needs. I must say, though, that I have been thinking about it and I really don't know how savory my organs would be as I have been using to filter sugar and trans fats. I admired Aly's green filled grocery bag to day. The prettiest use of plastic I've seen in a long while.