When I Asked You to Sing at My Funeral

by Heather Fowler

It's because poetry would not do,

because the fireflies were alive that night, aflame, 

reminding me of the way my heart felt

when I loved you,


because song is a different version of holding,

of kissing, of listening-- because

the last time I saw you


you showed me nothing

of what you felt, and because sometimes

you must die, in one life, in order

to start another