Epitaph

If I enter the Other Kingdom
before you don your own crown,

burn my earthly shell, that fleshy husk
and anoint the Superstitions with my ashes.

(so much paper to write postmortem poetry)
Make sure the watchful eyes of the guardians turn

toward my dusty remains which dance in desert crosswinds:
Shimmy, shimmy, serpent arms. Circle, reverse, pose.

I will bury my own bones inside
open flowers reaching from their needle beds;

cactus bees with pulsing wings of no more substance than
my diaphanous undercarriage will fly me from the nectar,

carrying a little of me back to our Texas
where I can sit with you on the front porch.

You can’t expect me to leave without you.

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Samika Swift writes from the huge fantastic city of Denton, Texas. When not restricted by a pandemic, she leads summer writing workshops for incarcerated youth. Her poetry can be found in Illya’s Honey and Dallas Poets Community’s anthology Cattlemen and Cadillacs and is forthcoming in Belt Magazine.