I had a palm tree once. It was a tiny version of itself. When it died I took it to the dumpster whole. I spread its leaves over rotting garbage like a reverse burial.
A man picked through the dumpster that night. A week later I saw him driving around with my palm tree in his passenger’s seat, windows down. They looked happy.
I died once. I was a tiny version of myself. When I felt it coming on I took myself out to the dumpster, spread my hair over the garbage. I wound down an imaginary window.
I looked happy.