The Funeral

The funeral was Thursday, and by all accounts it was a beautiful one. His girl friend came and brought his baby. His cousin sang a song that reduced everyone to tears, even the minister. His friends from the streets came and talked about how he loved everyone and was never mean. His grandfather attended, and survived it with the same optimism that has kept him alive for 91 years. God has taken James to a better place.

He said:
As Befits a Man

I don’t mind dying—
But I’d hate to die all alone!
I want a dozen pretty women
To holler, cry, and moan.

I don’t mind dying
But I want my funeral to be fine:
A row of long tall mamas
Fainting, fanning and crying.

I want a fish-tail hearse
And sixteen fish-tail cars,
A big brass band
And a whole truck load of flowers.

When they let me down,
Down into the clay,
I want the women to holler:
Please don’t take him away!
Ow-ooo-oo-o!
Don’t take daddy away!

Langston Hughes

She said:

If I should go before the rest of you,
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.
Not when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice,
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must,
Parting is hell,
But life goes on,
So sing as well.

Joyce Grenfell