Muscle memory is funny,
in the sense that it is
the most reliable memory a person can have.
I hope that when I die,
and the mortician prepares my body,
that they can run their fingers along me,
and read my life’s story like braille.
I want them to feel the creases of my eyes,
note how often I must’ve smiled,
Then to feel the fullness of my checks
and know my life has been fulfilling.
Or to see the age on my skin
and know I’ve experienced my fair share of adventure.
And as I reach rigor-mortis,
my body moving in ways it knows best,
I want the personnel in charge of me
to follow my lead,
Laying me to rest in my closest memory.
All so when my loved ones look upon me for the last time,
they see the person I am
rather than the aftermath of who I once was.
