Sue Nyamnjoh

Flowers are always welcome at funerals
Yellow dahlias
In the midst of black mourners
White lilies
To adorn the grave
Fists full of earth
Connect to wooden boxes
Encasing swollen bodies
Fat and ripe with decay

Do paupers get flowers?

I met a woman once you see
With tight curls, dirty nails
And belongings stuffed in bright pink bags

She was going places
Bus card at the ready
Feet ready to prowl

I want to think that when she goes
Really goes
There will be flowers at her grave