Six Ways Til Sunday

I have told him
I don’t want a funeral
just scatter my dust along our beach
and let it spread across the seven seas
six ways til Sunday
I have told him
I have no desire
for a permanent memento
or prominent monument
or for people to gather in grief
I have no wish to leave a lasting memory
just add my ashes
like some extra dashes of salt on the sea
and I’ll be free
and then you needn’t mourn for me
anymore

Script

She squeezes the child-proof lid
then taps the tablets out
the delicate white discs sprinkle on to her palm
so small they almost get lost in the lines
she calculates how many days they’ll get her through
and wonders how it would feel to take more than a few
and how much it matters that they leave a little residue
on her fingertips
she can taste the acidity on her lips
a powdered trace
she inspects her face
in the bathroom mirror
and looks into the inner
black pupiled void
and marvels at the intricate contrast
of the surrounding circle of green marbled glass