What will the bugs taste when I die?
Will regret be the first bitter flavor to bloom in their mouths
As they writhe through the pallid flesh of my guts
Following that same twisting dance of bitter, cloying longing?
Or will joy burst and burn their insides,
As they crawl through the space that once held my lungs,
With the brief, beautiful life of bonfire or candle flame
Leaving nothing but ashes, burnt wicks and embers in its wake?
What secrets will they hear buried in my bones
Echoing through every porous inch of my femur and my vertebrae?
Will their antennae quiver with the sound of tragedies and triumphs
Pouring out in some final bid for faint, mangled remembrance,
Or will they have to dig through calcium
To find the hidden caverns carved by grief and growth
That hide inside my ribs
And trickle down into my heart?
They will taste what's left of me
Be it rotten or given freely
And I know not what they will keep
But I only wish for it to be
Some part of me.
Writer: Zoé Devereaux; Editor: Mia Bouchard; Picture: Jillian McGrath
