by Joanna McClure
I long to give this body —
Not to science, not to the fire.
I long to be given, whole
For the fish in the sea to nibble away.
I long to be buried, naked,
Under the earth, to be returned to the earth.
I want to be placed high,
On an altar made of sticks, for the birds,
For the birds of prey to feed on,
For the sun to whiten my bones.
I long, long to join myself
Back, back into all that life
From which I came.
I long, long, to feed life directly.