Ocher and earth: that's what I want.

Like the ancestors, ocher and earth.

When the time comes, dig me a hole

and lay me in it. Lay me on my side,

limbs folded, like a baby in the womb.

By my head, set the little earthenware goddess

that stands in the garden in summer.

(In winter, check the big cupboard in the pantry.)

Sprinkle me with ocher, head to foot.

(Be heavy-handed.)

 Lay over me leafy branches

—evergreen, if you have to—

before you shovel the dirt back in.

Then pour out the dark drink and burn the herbs,

and dance me a round-dance, for rebirth's sake.

That's what I want, like the mothers and fathers:

ocher—red ocher—and earth.


For GR:

Brother and Son