Another excerpt from my prison journal.
I wrote this during a period when the consequences of my incarceration seemed to extend beyond my own life, even to how I imagined I would be remembered after death.
MY FUNERAL
A stirring service not
in the cards,
though once it
was.
A crowded church,
some moving
hymns,
remembrance from
family,
and a friend or
two,
a solemn Danny Boy,
my favored
dirge,
a final procession,
tears and mourning,
huddled at the
gravesite.
A final blessing: the laying
of the flowers,
one by one.
Unlikely now: Potter’s Field
or some such place
my legacy.
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