In honor of my home state of Washington legalizing human composting I dug up (hahaha) an old poem where I consider the alternative to burial or cremation, although I didn’t know it was a thing at the time I certainly was intrigued by the idea and the beauty it holds in it.
or https://crosscut.com/2019/05/dust-dirt-human-composting-coming-wa
If an heirloom tomato were
a body part,
might it be a kidney.
Quartered and sliced
aspirating a fine mist
seeds and juice spill
and soak into the cutting board.
A cherry tomato would be an eyeball,
of course.
The only difference between
the old me, listening to Led Zeppelin III
and me listening now,
is that I now have the wisdom to not
try to hit the high notes.
Restraint.
An over-ripened Roma
might be a thyroid gland,
or boiled and peeled it
becomes a swollen lymph node.
Slices become columns,
now juice and seeds are puddling,
columns into squares.
Of course the Beefsteak would be
the typical enlarged American heart.
Maybe when I die I could be composted
by the state, then They could sell me to
gardeners across the region.
My final act of charity.
