a transcription of the poem read on the home page of this issue

by Shane McCrae

Listen to my last breath    you’ll hear each breath I’ve drawn
Since my voice changed and the sound got
Deeper bow your head     pull down     a shroud from the heaven white
Folks get peace     privacy from pull one down

To cover us I know you got     a ladder or a string
A ladder in your pocket straight
And tall     a white string made of white strings twisted tight
Together and it hangs

Above your head you     pull and
A ladder rolls     down from that heaven
White folks pull grave by grave to Earth

I know y’all got a heaven     just for y’all and
A God who don’t speak     or don’t make y’all listen     listen
Bow your head     that is the voice of God     that breath

Poem copyright 2022 by Shane McCrae. All rights reserved.

See more poems from Shane McCrae on The Fight & The Fiddle: “I squeezed through,”  and  “Law’s Dream”

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Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt