Poems by Joyce Schmid

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“Scientists agree that human beings can be composted.”
--Catrin Einhorn, New York Times, April 13, 2015

by Joyce Schmid

From Canary Spring 2016

Joyce lives in walking distance of the San Francisco Bay (when she is feeling energetic).

Lay me on a bed of cedar chips.
According to the season, dress me up
in lilacs, roses, fuschias, or chrysanthemums.
Keep me warm with soft alfalfa hay
and then strew pine chips over.

When it’s time to plant, then come for me
and mix me into seeds and soil
so things can grow.
I will be leaves

converting sunlight into breath.
I will be flowers
asking hummingbirds to tea
and serving nectar to the bees.

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