From Ashes To Frog Spawn

Emily Stangland

I cannot wait to be laid to

rest surrounded by peat

moss and slugs,

My rotting skin soothed by the embrace of chanterelle and deathcaps

let my hollowed bones be home to a salamander and my ribcage to a skink,

Algae coating what once were hands and ferns growing from what once

were feet.

Let my teeth and fingers erode into the sand beneath the maze of a

mangrove’s roots The fat on my thighs melt into the clay and silt in a lagoon

alive with frog song

I want my muscles eaten by a heron, picking at my ligaments to be

consumed by fish and toads,

and porous bones to be filled by lion’s mane and cordyceps

I want frog spawn to fill my empty skull so that tadpoles may swim

through my ribcage I want my skin to be replaced by mud and I want

flowers to grow on every inch of my skeleton

I want the sun to kiss all of creation

atop my grave I want to become the

sand that lines the lake,

The foundation of great mountains.

I want my fleeting, meager human life to come to a

meaningful end in bugs and moss and spores

With my soul in eternity among the whispering and chirping of life

everlasting.