Bury

Do not bury me, for I cannot bear
The cold dews that must seep through
Even the friendly gardener's hose would
Frighten me, let alone the rain

Though in life I have loved the beady eyes
Of the gopher on my walks, or spied
The squirrel in his disappearing act
They are not like me, I know

The soil does not wish them ill, and when
They dig they know their way
Upwards back to light and air, while I
Entombed will not share that certainty.

Wena Poon is a Singaporean writer based in the USA.