My final wish

When I die, 

I want strangers to come to my funeral too.  

The people I weaved around in the grocery store,

the ones that I shared smile during awkward moments,

the ones that let me pet their dog,

the ones that complimented me on my sweater

the ones that I shared a moment in their life with. 

I don't know your favorite color, 

but I did love how your eyes shone when talking about your grandkids. 

Black lipstick looks great on you, 

especially how it bends in a smile as you gush about your  cats. 

And you, the man who has shared a polite wave from his backyard

as I went into work, 

you should come to. 

I know we are all busy,

it is selfish to ask,

but I would be honored if you, the quiet reader in the corner of my favorite

bookstore came,

or the senior citizen who could never work Microsoft Word shared your thoughts.

Come in the clothes I met you in.

Let my story bleed through the black holes of numb,

like slivers of sun on rainy days,

because it was beautiful when I lived,

and it is beautiful that parts of me will stay.