Weirdings

Where do squirrels die? Have you ever found one? Do they hide in dark corners before they exhale their last breath? Or rot in dwindling heights like Tibetan warriors? Maybe they just don’t die at all. Too fast, so death can’t touch their glistening fur. Unless death drives a Mercedes. Then they stand no chance. Smudged to the ground to become street. Just not the tail. The bushy extremities remain intact for afterlife. With nuts stashed for eternity and a black-eyed wink.

If they have eyelids.

I'm thinking about how strange it is to look like your grandmother, or to see your father in the mirror. That we find our fingernails, gestures, and frowns living in others. When they are gone, we carry them without forgetting.

My fingernails will be hers forever. I almost detach from them completely in their remembrance; they become the most important feature. Not mine anymore, but something closer to a living shrine. I wonder if others worship my fingernails too, for the million ways we miss their hands, their touch, their rightful tips.