At My Funeral

                                                                  Nothing is born or perishes, but already existing

                                                                  things combine, then separate anew.

                                                                                              — Anaxagoras   

Somebody spoke at my death

But I wasn’t dead.

People loved the eulogy,

Couldn’t get enough of it.

It wasn’t sad at all.

All this water came out of nowhere,

Mingled with air,

And the fluidity converted you from solid

To liquid to ether and back.

Cats sauntered in the condensation.

I remember looking for them.

Finding all the cats meant

There was no death.

“At My Funeral” is from Life in Suspension (Salmon Poetry, 2016).