Up at six in the morning.
Fed the cats.
I left my anger in dreams I can’t remember.
I found joy without reason
and took it and left my anger behind.
I’ve died and my life is heaven.
So I will clean my face.
I will redraw the eyebrows, add sunscreen and a little foundation.
I will go to Sugar House Coffee and greet the angels
drinking lattes and spinach smoothies.
So many angels.
Even the demons have cashed their last paycheck,
had their last six shots of bourbon
and laugh at their plastic Halloween horns.
I’m glad the streets aren’t paved in gold,
and there appears to be no pearly gates,
no suburbs for the merely good
or mansions for the better.
Kingbirds perch in the birch trees,
swallows swing under the bridges, and there are saints
with hair to the waist, red bandanas
covering shaved heads,
silver stars piercing the hunger-button.
They laugh over cat pictures on Facebook.
I think I’ll laugh with them.
I think I can remember how.
I think it isn’t true, what they say about the dead.
They don’t wait for us behind a curtain between here and there.
They are here now. So I’ll go.
Let’s all go.
Let’s leave our dream-sorrows behind,
put our angers under the pillow, and go out
and weave ourselves into the joy-bodies
of our Mothers and Fathers.
Let’s go now
into our present heaven and greet
our angels, our source
of rest and relief from ourselves.