Calisthenic, Week 12 (make-up)

from the imagining the unimaginable exercise on pp. 203-206 in Writing Poetry:

When I die, they will shatter every joint in my body and cut away each limb like I'm a Thanksgiving turkey whose legs are severed and served to the children who sit at a table far in the corner where no one can hear each son and each daughter argue over who gets the seat at the head of their miniature table.

When I die, they will not lock me away in a wooden prison beneath the soles of pastors' shoes and widows' bent knees, no, they will burn every pound of my flesh until I melt into putty then burn to ash like a home that succumbs to a great fire that will not extinguish before the morning of its funeral.

[not finished]