Eat This Soil

I hope when I die, I’ll die in the woods

where my body is never found. 

I hope my body rots so dramatically 

that creatures find homes 

in my hallowed out cavities 

and spiders find ribs to weld their webs together. 

I hope my face is unrecognizable. 

I hope I’m so deep in the woods,

they never find my body. 

they won’t feel pity for how I am dead 

and rip me from the soil and steal away 

these rabbit homes and bird nests 

I allow it to remain in my chest. 

I hope the mushrooms grow strong 

and tall, some flowers 

sprout out of my eye sockets. 

I failed society because 

my body was meant to be a habitat for the wild. 

I failed because I didn’t die soon enough 

to house the little mice that fear getting hunted. 

I hope my flesh tears away 

so as to not disturb the neighboring deer. 

my hair will fill homes on cold winters. 

the tiniest of bones will become tools. 

my teeth in a crows nest, their pride and joy. 

the cryptic hiding spot. 

the leaves that cover the murder spot.

a man’s tracks vanish in the rain,

blood specks washing away.

I hope the woods hide my body 

and I become a flowering vessel, 

a huge collection of seed that the bird brought to me. 

the fruit I could grow for the hungry 

and in need. this ritual, 

This earthly enlightenment was my intended purpose. 

back to the soil,

my bones rest so deep, 

it’s the best my body will sleep

and I lay quiet and ever so still. 

I return back to the ground and her soil. 

with the bones of my hand digging me back down.

the wind sings lullabies 

and I had forgotten all about everything. 

I am nature’s hotel.

Zach Weisheit (he/him)

My name is Zach Weisheit, I’m a sophomore and I’ve always loved creative writing,. Being in the journalism class gives me a chance to write about things I’m passionate about, but this allows me to share artistic and imaginative ideas and stories I’ve come up with that I don’t often get to share.