If my life should ever be taken from me
while I am running through the park—
find solace in the irony that I was found
just a few feet from the hospital where I was born.
You introduced me to this park
the day you brought me home. Remember?
I’ve loved this place since I was two days old.
It remained my favorite refuge until my calendar ran out.
In a way, this is a full circle tragedy.
If my life should ever be taken from me
while I am running through the park—
know that I fought.
Scrape under my fingernails.
Check between my teeth.
Examine my stomach contents.
Make sure the hearse drives through
on the way to the cemetery;
I’d like to complete my loop one last time.
If my life should ever be taken from me
while I am running through the park—
don’t hang onto that one unfortunate day;
immortalize my whole extraordinary life.
Remember our picnics under cherry blossoms.
Look at all the photos of
gold leaves and snowy branches I captured.
If my life should ever be taken from me
while I am running through the park—
don’t blame the trees.
They weep for me as well; they will miss me too.
Engrave my name on a bench.
Visit often.
Sit there for me.
–
Alicia Cook is an award-winning poet and essayist from New Jersey. She has published four poetry collections with Andrews McMeel Publishing. Her writing often focuses on mental health, grief, addiction, and hope–sometimes all at the same time. Her work can be found easily, including on bookstore shelves, The New York Times, HuffPost, and Writer’s Digest. Instagram: @thealiciacook
