QUESTIONING MY EPITAPH
If I were to die tomorrow
what would be my epitaph?
Who would come forward and
sing dirges, keen their loss?
I wonder so often…
how many lives have I touched?
Really touched.
Why is it that only after we
leave this narrow plane
the actions of our
being here,
the loving,
the small gifts
we have shared,
become recounted?
Would it not be better each day
to bear witness to one another's lives?
To conjure up some silly minutiae to retell,
to present our fondest memories
on silver platters of thought,
like the feast that living truly is…
wouldn't that be the penultimate honor
to give to each other,
then an homage to the art of living itself?
And so as I recline on my bed,
my hands crossed serenely over my heart,
eyes closed, breathing deeply,
imagining the words being said
of me, to me, to my spirit,
I begin
questioning my epitaph,
so wanting it to read…
She lived well
and loved boundlessly
K. Tate Jacoby
copyright August 16, 2012
--- Giovanni One Last Dream Secret
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