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"The Tomb of Sorrow" by Essex Hemphill

When I die, honey chil', my angels will be tall Black Drag Queens. I will eat their stockings as they fling them into the blue shadows of dawn. I will suck their purple lips

to anoint my mouth for the utterance of prayer.

My witnesses will have to answer to go-go music. Dancing and sweat will be required

at my funeral.

Someone will have to answer the mail I leave, the messages on my phone service; someone else will have to tend to the aching that drove me

to seek soul.

Everything different tests my faith. I have stood in places where the absence of light allowed me to live longer, while at the same time

it rendered me blind.

I struggle against

plagues, plots, pressure, paranoia. Everyone wants a price

for my living.

When I die, my angels, immaculate Black diva drag queens, all of them sequined and seductive, some of them will come back to haunt you, I promise,

honey chil'.