So I mentioned the braid in that poem, and then
I'll mention it in this.
So now comes the point where I get to do the show
and tell part.
So the cover of the book is actually my braid
and my arm holding it.
So if that gives an illustration.
In the Event of My Death.
What used to be a rope descending
my vertebrae to the basement of my spine grows thin.
In solidarity with my first chemotherapy
our cat leaves her whiskers on the hardwood floor.
I gather them, each pure white parenthesis,
and plant them in the throat of the Earth.
In quarantine, I learned to trim your barbarian hair.
Now, it stands always on end, a salute to my superior barbary
skills.
In the event of my death, promise
you will find my heavy braid and bury it.
I will need a rope to let me down into the Earth.
I've hidden others strategically around the globe.
A net to catch my body in its weaving.