On Death and Epitaphs

One day in a writers’ workshop, the leader asked us to write an essay on the epitaph we wanted to appear on our grave stones. This provoked an instant dilemma for only one participant: Me.

I have no intention of being buried in a grave. I also don’t want to tie my offspring to a given place nor have my passing give way to costly trekking rituals should they decide to leave the area, and feel obliged to come back for the dutiful visits that many folks accomplish when loved ones are buried in some faraway place. And, I absolutely have no intention of provoking any guilty feeling about not making such treks, if indeed, they got on with living their lives like I would expect them to do.

Besides, I don’t like cold, dark, cramped and what I envision as being, damp, places. Ugh! I’m an August baby. So bring on the heat.

I will be cremated. Yes, burn baby, burn.

But still, I did want to write this assignment. And, so I did.

The result is captured in my poem, Thar She Blows. It appears, in a slightly different version, in Offshoots 9 which is a collection of selected works from members of the Geneva Writers’ Workshop.

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About emanita01

I am a Franco-american woman who hails from Massachusetts. I live in France near the Swiss border, only minutes away from Geneva. I am a member of the Geneva Writers Group and the Association La Forge, a literary group based in France. I write stories, poems and am currently working on a couple of plays, a one-woman show and a dramatized poem.
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