‘I love these spring blossoms, yes the pale pink ones. Plant them over my grave…’ I tell her. She rolls her eyes.I've said the same about plumerias and scarlet gulmohars.
Would it be too much of an effort for them, after me, I mean getting them from the nursery? But I'd be cremated, in all probability, turned into ashes. And haven’t I, repeatedly, asked them to donate my organs? I can be quite a handful.
the moon hangs
on power cables