Poem

Make a vase of your urn, I tell you.
I don’t want to be burned and then
thrown as ashes carried by a wind.
I am a black man, live in Alabama.
I am not indifferent to the Diaspora.
My ancestors were sent in separate
directions, routed without roots, a
care for how they were pried from
kin, children. Place my nude body
in a box, whole so that even while
I am stilled by death, I want to be
so ready! in case there’s still a soul
rambunctious amid the rot, mold,
in order that I may be one of the first
to rise, first to have my story told, as
I gaze into my maker’s unerring eyes
who’ll not be startled, nor surprised.

Willie James King lives in Montgomery, Ala.