How You Die
BY RHONI BLANKENHORN
You take your time dying, you really work at it, like it’s your job. You die suddenly. People crowd around you while you die. You die in a room, alone. You die with ice chips on your lips. You eat an entire breakfast combo before you die. You eat an extra large bag of oyster crackers, the crispy skin of a pig’s head, and a slice of cheesecake, then you die. You drink two liters of Costco vodka then you die. Your eyes become doglike, your whiskers tangled, then you die. You fake your own death. You ask me to help you dress in your purple blouse and sweatpants, then you die. You’re doing everything the doctors said, then you die. You disrobe, throw rose petals at the moon and die anyway. You curl into the shape of a shell, avoid all my calls, then you die. You go to work as if it is any other day, then you die. You lie to everyone, you great big bullshitter, then you die. You die with the TV on. You die with the dog beneath your bed. You die and leave plenty of shit behind for other people to clean up. You wait until I kiss you, then you die. You die and everyone asks why for a long time.
