I’m going to dance on your grave.

I will hoot and holler and stomp up and down
Rattling your bones in that bag of loose flesh that’s slowly melting off .

I will scream into the ground that was savagely ripped up
And then squished back in around that shiny box.

I will lay on my belly and read my favorite books
And laugh raucously at all the best parts.

I will swear and kick the somber stone at your head
And howl when I bruise my foot.

I will sit crisscross-applesauce on the grass in August
And sing Christmas carols.

I will do whatever I feel like doing
With little concern for what you’d think.

Because it isn’t your grave.

It’s mine.