The death of my grandfather
leaves money
and a company
for the children to scrabble over.
There are those who never escape
the molasses.
Perhaps it's best he not die.
So many things
I want to own
before I go: a star
chart and a mouthful
of juice, the sound
of swarming gnats
over a river.
As for what will become
of my body
that will depend
on who its ownership
falls to, as I
will be incapable
of preference or selfhood.
And my grandfather, if he must die
then I implore the future
owners of his body
to scatter him
like interstellar dust
or a fist of bats.