If I should die,

return my tumbling tongue to my father

along with my healer’s hands

Tell him, thank you for allowing me use of them

Tell him, I never quite learned how to balance

my desire to bring peace and comfort

with my uncontrollable craving to speak my mind

I spit fire even as I try to mend the burns

Give my mother my warrior’s heart

Heaven knows that I did not receive it from her, but

perhaps she can make some use of it

She, after all, taught me how to fight through her tears

My brothers shall have my battered lungs, my mouth

and know that it was they who taught me to sing and laugh

even as foundations crumble and statues fall

And you, my love

shall keep my admiring eyes

my drifting mind

for how could I ever think or look upon beauty

if I am not by your side?