We’d see people
from human history,
alive and able to love us back.
Oh, most everyone believes
they are going there
even if they are not
sure about God.
But in our secret heart,
a shadow of doubt.
We don’t really know.
I choose to be positive,
believe Heaven is real.
Not worried about who won’t or will.
Babies who died in famine
or witches burned at the stake will—
not the robed burners.
So people get there, live forever
with all our pet friends,
no pain or death.
No regrets? That’s a hard one.
Streets of gold, harps, angels, halos.
Or a restored, Edenic Earth.
World without End.
I know what I’ll do besides
weeping joy with everyone I love—
embrace every day,
every hero I knew about, many I didn’t.
A lot of wonderful common folk,
a blacksmith who squelched a fire,
a fire eater who charmed a deadly snake,
a dairy maid who resisted her master,
a postman who threw himself
under a car to save a child.
I’ll set up appointments.
Was my job on Earth,
good at being an amiable gadfly.
We would meet at coffee shops
serving dark brew
picked by unoppressed humans.
All take turns serving.
Meeting family and friends.
Who else?
Already started my list.
Dostoyevsky, Dr. Salk, Mother Teresa.
Gandhi, Mandela, Father Kolb, Clara Schumann,
the Carters, Charles Dickens, C.S. Lewis,
my down-the-block neighbors.
The list would go on for eternity.
A God who made elephants
and watermelons will surely
have good things for us to do.
There are other planets to be explored,
a kaleidoscopic, expanding universe.
Maybe I will write a great poem,
perhaps you the great World novel,
a symphony an undeaf Beethoven
will marvel over.
Grow the perfect orchid.
Bees everywhere.
Build and plant.
We can even share our lists.
Originally published in Poets' Expresso Review