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And a poem!

Dressing the Body by Brittany Rogers

We—Detroit girls, Daughters of Motown—
knew before we saw the bronze casket

that Aretha would be dressed down;
some—Non-believers, Outsiders—

called it frivolous: two-day
viewing; eight-hour long service;

four outfit changes, each dress
more elaborate than the last.

Beautiful, beautiful gowns—accessorized
from jewels to pointed heels. I half-

expect her to break out a side eye
belt out a hymn to remind us

who the Queen is. There is,
of course, no such performance,

though we all huddle like crows,
waiting to see if she still looks

like herself. There is a protocol to this,
a right way to send

someone back to the lap of God.
Wearing their Sunday best.

So fancy they can be
mistaken for a bride.