mors babylonica by Hillary (Utah, 20)

when I die
            bury me as a tree
            grind my bones into the finest ash
            mixed with fertilizer into that of the weeping willow tree
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            ​so i can be reborn
            to provide shade for the tired passerby
            shelter for the homeless
            home to nest wandering robins and swallows
            and the rope swing that decorates my branch - dad’s gift to his little girl
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            build a bench underneath my willow curtains
            to let the elderly couple sit
            they reminisce their love on their 56th wedding anniversary
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            my trunk hopes to be carved
            ​with hearts and initials of young lovebirds
            unsure of their own fate
            after sharing their first kiss
            under the weeping willow tree

            carve me with your memories
            as long as you can promise
            you will visit me from time to time
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            i hope to grow tall and beautiful for another 30 years
            but i cannot stop the fate
            of being chopped down
my body, my vessel, my wood
            each part of me diminished
            ——cut—--
            ——stripped —--
            ——dried —--
            ——stained —--
            to make your coffee table
            i hope it’s a nice coffee table
covered in a poison varnish
            that seeps in and mixes with my sap / my blood
            the toxicity ruins me slowly

you call me “invasive”
            what makes my roots any different from yours?
            i’m the invasive one, yet you take away land
            from native people
            plants
            ​animals
            they were there first
when i die
            lovers-
            please come back for me
            please save me
            please hear my weeping
            for i have given all i can for you
when i die
            it is your turn
            to return the favor





Hillary is a 20 year old aspiring poet currently pursuing her degree in Creative Writing. She is from Utah and considers the mountains as her home. She discovered her love for poetry at an early age and was an editor for her high school’s Creative Writing journal, which was collectively published. In her spare time, she loves to be outside and you will always catch her with a pocket notebook for when she feels inspired. She has a little tuxedo cat named Fig who is the whole center of her universe.