when I die

stir my ashes in ink. save a little in the smallest jar you can find, then pour the rest into the cartridges of fountain pens. stuff me into Christmas stockings, tie me into the ribbons of birthday presents, gift me to everyone I loved. knowing it’s me she holdsbetween her fingers; my mother will cross her t’s and dot her i’s with delicate precision. my father will scribble my name into the pages of his weathered bible, turning me and his grief into scripture. my brother will design creatures and sketch me into new worlds. and you, my darling, marry my existence into unerasable letters of burning ache. turn our love into the next great American novel. and when the inevitable happens, when I finally run out, take that jar, the smallest one you were able to find, and tattoo me into your skin, wear me on your sleeves. and when it’s your time to go, you won’t go alone.