Black Bodies

Lay my body to rest in the gardens of Duke Chapel. 

Let my black body become the soil

That feeds life into the grounds that devoured me.

Read my obituary in the Mary Lou Center

To send me home in the only place

That felt like home. 

Raise my stone as high above the floor

As that of Julian Abele’s.

None at all.

And let the weight of white bodies continue

To crush me into the under earth.

Host my wake at Yearby.

Host my wake at the NPHC House.

Host my wake at the Black Cultural Living Group.

All which, just like me, have ceased to exist.

Host my wake at wherever they will accept me.

Wherever it is, demand that they remember me.

Whether it be in the Black Yard,

The back of the bus equivalent of East Campus

Crowding black bodies in covert spaces.

Whether it be at the Greek plots,

Hidden in shame near the sewers 

In the back alleys of the Bryan Center.

Put me somewhere they might just have to see me.

Invite all the janitors and Marketplace workers,

Accounting for CPT.

Forget to send invites to 80% of faculty

I only want the people who look like me 

To celebrate me.

Let my guests dream of who i could have been

So I can forget the nightmares of them

Reminding me of what I was destined to.

And when all my grants and aid

Cannot afford me the flower beds of the Duke Chapel

Lay me down at the doors of the Allen Building

And they will be sure to get rid of me.