My obituary says
no lighting votive candles –
enough with this fetching of angels like moths
who burn their wings in the flames.
Ghosts are indeed invited
to the reception, but no deviled eggs
will be served for obvious reasons
of hell and high cholesterol.
My urn should be a mason jar
that once canned root vegetables –
pickled remembering, havoc beets,
parsnip soul food for the other side.
Feel free to comb through my cremains
for adamantine – waste not, want not –
help yourself to what was hard, irreducible,
my topsyturvy cinders of bone and star.
For Shay’s Word Garden
qbit 
The last two lines!!!!!!!!
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Thank you so much!!
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Such richness of image and metaphor in every line; especially loved: “my topsyturvy cinders of bone and star”
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Thanks!!
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Another brilliant poem of yours Qbit, but we must have the devilled eggs!! 😁
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Ahahaha! Indeed we must!
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You can have my deviled eggs when you pry them from my cold dead hands.
“cremains” I had not heard that word before but it’s perfect.
No late fee for you this week! You are a model citizen!
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Hahaha! Thanks.
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awesome writing! I really enjoyed this one!
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Had to laugh at Shay’s comment. In 2020 while at the New Orleans airport, I ordered deviled eggs from Emeril’s. Mistake. The worst food poisoning I ever experienced. I am donating all the deviled eggs I might have consumed in future years to HER! A great poem, by the way. Great.
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