of Edward Hirsch's "Special Orders"
Like Hirsch's poem, I'll work in unrhymed tercets.
Improv':
Take back my name, father, tattooed on your wrist
like fashion jewelry. Don't carry me
with you in death, made to sit comfortably in silence
with your cold body, as if we'd always talked
about afterlife as paternal. Don't let them bury me
where maggots will eat me away, remember
I'm your only girl. Take back the Christmas Eve
presents, the pawned jacket a size too small
for your new girlfriend. Yes, I knew.
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