Don't Spit on My Grave

Treat me like waxed paper,
don't spit on my grave.
Don't wear kid gloves
or skirt the pain,
but lift my memory
like a candle,
and, please, don't spit on my grave.

Take me whole
or take me part,
set the flame
into my heart -
reach into
its darkest part,
but don't spit on my grave.

I always had my mode,
truth is refracted
in emotion's prism,
but don't embellish
and don't compact it,
try not to give into elision.

But mostly, all I ask
is for you to save
the best of me.
Don't spit on my grave.