Classic Poem

I want to be remembered
with big bare arms akimbo
and feet splay-toed and flat arched
on the welcome mat of dirt.

I want to be remembered
as a voice that was made to be singing
the lullaby of shadows
as a child fades into a dream.

I want to be as familiar
as the woman in the background
when the heroine is packing
and the Yankee soldiers come.

Hair covered with a bandanna,
I want to be remembered
as an autumn under maples:
a show of incredible leaves.

I want to be remembered
with breasts that never look empty,
with a child-bearing generous waistline
and with generous, love-making hips.

I want to be remembered
with a dark face absorbing all colors
and giving them back twice as brightly,
like water remembering light.

I want to be remembered
with a simple name, like Mama:
as an open door from creation,
as a picture of someone you know.