Last wishes from a book lover (& her roommate)


I want to die in a bookstore. 

Don’t wake me up if these volumes are dreams. 

Words are beautiful. 

I feast upon paperbacks 

as if I am eating my last meal, 

all day long, if I could. 

I don’t care if I get hay fever 

from the dust & spores of delicate archivals. 

Pass me more fabric gloves & face masks. 

Give me a comfy chair & an end table 

with lots of light. I’ll spend the night 

on my last day on Earth 

reading away, growing blissful. 

You may not notice I’ve passed on, 

cradling books upon my lap, 

my legs crossed, laying back, 

smiling, eyes still open, 

in absolute wonderment. 


My native Texan OU roommate 

prefers to die 

in a Sephora—craving 

a timely, pampered end to a brief life. 

She dreams she will  

finally expire 

after dripping wet, 

dipping skinny from the 

Nancy Best Fountain 

In Klyde Warren Park, 

then towel-dried,  

lathering her face 

with free samples   

at the Galleria in Big D 

then, the big O 

(oh, finally!!) while vibrating 

on a massage Barcalounger, 

all at once, having the feels, 

feeling so beautiful, 

cared for & relaxed 

before her final breath. 

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