When I die, lay me down under a willow tree by Peyton Michelle Bryant

When I die, lay me down under a willow tree

facing my mountains dressed in blue.

Bury me in the costume jewelry

my grandmother gave me-

a ring on every finger

two on each pinky and thumb.

Put me in the ground with my pewter wolf

still nestled in the hollow of my throat

and my sword around my neck.

I don’t want a fancy coffin;

leave me to the crows I loved so much in life.

Let my body be my final gift to the land.

Promise to only tell the truth.

Tell the truth of how I burned.

Sometimes like the sunlight

that peppers your eyelids with kisses

in the dog days of summer-

some days like a wildfire

devouring everything in it’s path.

Tell them of how my rage

blazed as hot as my love

but I never let it hold me for long

and I couldn’t hold a grudge

to save my own damn life.

Tell the truth of how I was a pain in the ass

and would argue a point

until I was blue in the face

but damn it, did I make life more interesting.

When I die, I want you to throw the biggest party

this town has ever seen.

Only the most outrageous outfits will do!

If I look down to an ocean of black at my wake,

I swear I’ll haunt you all.

Play my Inner Summer playlist

on a speaker at my funeral;

turn up the volume as loud as it will go

and dance.

When I die, tell my children

that they hung the moon and the stars in my sky.

Tell them that they were the greatest thing

I ever created.

Tell them that I’ll see them again someday

in some other way

but that until then,

they’ve got one hell on wheels kinda angel

protecting them on the other side.

When I die, cover the ground where I lay

in wildflowers and scribbled lines of poetry.

Put crow feathers, coyote hair, roses and honey next to my picture on the family altar.

Leave the thorns on the stems.

On Sunday mornings,

pour a cup of black coffee on the Earth.

Right there in my favorite spot

where I spent so many afternoons

watching the birds dance and play.

Plant butterfly bushes.

Right there, where I held a ruby throated hummingbird in the palm of my hand

and felt the pulse of God herself

through a blanket of green feathers.

Give my words away.

Pass my journals down to my grandchildren;

let my spells live on in the hands and hearts

of the generations to come after me.

Tear out all of my head in the oven poems

written for that one lover that got away

and mail them to his door.

Stamp two wolves on the envelope

and tell him how I wished for so long

that we had more time.

Tell him that I’ll see him in another life

in a den underground.

Let these pages tell a living story

of each time I cradled heartbreak in my hands and still dared to love again.

When I die, let our love keep you warm

when sadness comes to call.

Let grief in the front door

(don’t make her search for the spare key)

Let her soften your sharp edges.

Let her crack you open

and remind you to live your life

like this is all going to end.

Because one day, it does.

If we’re lucky,

this life will have been enough-

a spark in the dark that lit a thousand flames.

A story that will live on

in the blood and bones

of the ones we leave behind.

When I die, may the life I lived

be the flare that lit the match

of a torch called freedom.

May it be the best story I ever birthed

from the tip of my pen.

May it be the permission slip to be bold.

May it be the heart song that sets my lineage free.

- Peyton Michelle Bryant

When I die, lay me down under a willow tree by Peyton Michelle Bryant

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