on caskets

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decorating the dead is among the most basic

human instincts, to return the borrowed body &

acknowledge Earth as maker & home.

Neanderthals used antlers & flowers. Egyptians

had pyramids with peasants buried in the walls they

built. some niggas just get a pine box. hopefully

you get a hole or a flame. some only get a cold

cabinet in the morgue until somebody or nobody

claims them as a loss.

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a permanent fixture on my to-do list

is research life insurance plans. pick

a good one with a fair rate & enough

money to buy a nice box.

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right this morning & i contemplate

the implications of the statement for the night.

everything in Mississippi is too cruel to bury.

i wonder what that means if every body in Chicago

has red clay in its lineage. Chief Keef must know

in his bones ball like it’s no tomorrow from what

Muddy time-capsuled into the South Side ground.

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when grandma died she left mama a notepad

with instructions. the one i remember was get

we wore blue at the service. we matched

the box & its glossy painted ribbons,

gold-flecked & light.

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house slaves are responsible for preparing

the dead of the master’s house. they clean

& clothe. they dig the hole. they don’t

bury any black body really, only dispose.

one of the concessions won by slave riots

was the right to a funeral. whitefolk were

confused at how the Africans sometimes

wore white, smiled, shouted like joy.

they seen funerals. not homegoings.

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my mother used to say my father loved

funerals. he worked graveyard shift & spent

the days & weekends visiting bodies.

running his finger alongside the box

& signing the greeting book.

the most decent thing you

can do is visit the funeral of

someone you didn’t know

for someone you do: sister’s coworker, lover’s friend

accountant’s mother, your aunt’s

high school rival.

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black churches formed burial societies

after slavery. every week you chipped

off a piece of your pay to save for the shovel

& the rough hands that would lower you.

i know some black folks now buying

their plot foot-by-foot. saving for a

final mortgage.

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it is día de los muertos & i have a check

folded in between the pages of a book about

genocide. i will send the money next week

to the other side of my family

& help bury grandma’s sister.

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i can’t think of a black rapper who hasn’t

contemplated their own death on record.

this is natural.

all my verses mention

boxes or holes.

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