Quilted Soul
On Happy Days
my hair is not nappy
I have more than I owe
and tomorrow I know
I will be building pyramids
On sad days,
I remember
that my place in Heaven is rented
and the currency demanded
is not the yen or dollar,
But my essence.
This will be
the prologue to my death
unless I find the missing fabrics
Of my soul
and weave them into a quilt
of my own design.
This poem appears in the anthology Quiet Storm: Voices of Young Black Poets (Hyperion Books 1999).
iamsherleyfierce 
Great ending.
Love that title.