Manuel Ramos Otero died of AIDS, and shortly before dying returned home to Puerto Rico. He appears on one of his book covers hugging a white statue in a cemetery, but I don’t know if he is also buried there, in Manatí. Miguel Piñero, on the other hand, wanted his ashes scattered through the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and his friends honored his wishes. Julia de Burgos just collapsed on Fifth Avenue and no one knew who she was. I don’t know who I am yet either, so I don’t know how I want to die and much less what they should do with my body. Perhaps give it to science. Flowers would be nice. I love flowers. And perhaps there should be music and song and lots of food.