I’d rather let roots slip between my ribs
and knit these bones into the black soil
to keep them still and ease what restlessness
might remain, he said, matter-of-factly,
the day after he died and we asked about
disposing of his body. A bee came crawling
from his beard. It’s odd, he continued,
how customs of land ownership inspired
us to create an industrial version of what
used to be called Hell. Just torch us down
to cinder, into powder fine as flour, then
put it in a vase that’s called an urn. Or earn
enough and you can buy a plot of grass
and put a stone over your head that says:
Tomorrow neither comes nor goes nor stays.

Michael Bazzett is the author of four books of poetry, including The Echo Chamber (Milkweed Editions, 2021). His work has recently appeared in Granta, The American Poetry Review, The Sun, The Nation, and The Paris Review. His verse translation of Mayan creation epic The Popol Vuh (Milkweed, 2018) was named one of 2018’s best books of poetry by The New York Times and his translation of the selected poems of Humberto Ak’abal, If Today Were Tomorrow, is forthcoming from Milkweed in 2024. The recipient of an NEA Fellowship, he lives in Minneapolis.