meal prepping for my funeral

this is the obituary you won’t write for me
because I want to taste the words first
I dunk them in the well of my soul
and let the cool water wash away the hurts
let the triumphs and the tragedies dance
across the surface like flower petals

the recipe for a good life is passed down
from old tongues to young ones
and each time it gets a little bit better
measure with your heart
or your hands
but never look at the scale

this is what I have learned
watching my ancestors at the cooking hearth:
sprinkle love on everything
first, water the garden with it
and when the stories and lessons are ripe
harvest them gently

this is what I have learned
while throwing things in the fire
and hoping a feast comes out of it;
no meal comes together without a little disaster
and the bitter vinaigrette of sorrow
pairs best with a sticky-sweet bite of happiness

this is what I want you to learn:
write your own recipe
grow your own truth and
sow your own legacy
and remember you can never over season
anything by adding a little more love