Instructions for My Funeral
Don’t bury me in no tree, and don’t touch
My chin hair. Burn me with gold leaves
In my crown so they know who I am [a bad
Bitch]. Take some ashes to meld my body
In glass: go ahead, ash blunts on my rose-gold
Rim. Have two funerals: a traditional one
For my mother and a kickback
With my wife. Send anyone who wears black
Home. Cry only if you’re laughing at me
[& how funny I used to be]. Play Doechii
And Solange all night, and don’t stop
Dancing until you sweat out your hair.
Find my wife and present her gifts of gold
Butter cake, fried chicken with lemon pepper,
Trashy american tacos, and hunks of sweet corn. No
Fighting, no preaching, no pain. Plant the rest
Of me to bloom [into an overgrown
Magnolia tree]. Let me sustain the bees
Long after I’ve gone to the fluffiest place
Reserved for dead Black poets, where
There’s an endless supply
Of any kind of potatoes you can imagine.
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: they/she/he: ritual to forget your (un)becoming by dezireé a. brown - October 19, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: The Birth of Undoing by Emily Patterson - October 16, 2026
- We Call Upon the Author to Explain—Lily Rex - October 15, 2026
