We Need to Talk About Heaven
I shift awake to insomniac moon
of cat's eye apatite
keeping its lonesome vigil.
Fire opal shimmer of dawn
punctuates the night.
Loosely scribbled letters in
black ink urge We need to talk.
Her Sunday School watercolour
called Heaven remains on the fridge--
a black cross entrance to remembrance blue,
streaks of butter cookie yellow
glimmering glow of angels,
dollops of slipper pink the good souls
carried away like wildflower blossoms
on the wind.
We meet under a barren camperdown elm,
the blackbirds startled into flight.
Unable to find words,
I take her photo from my coat pocket.
The elm contorts, it's broken silhouette
bent over us, weeping,
as if a crucifix redeeming us,
as if to keep us from being
Rebecca Weigold's poems are forthcoming or have appeared in BlazeVOX, The Tishman Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, The Ekphrastic Review, Winamop, The Skinny Poetry Journal, and others. In 1987, she founded and published The Cincinnati Poets' Collective, which featured the work of national and international poets for nearly a decade. Her writer's page can be found on Facebook at Rebecca Weigold--Poet.
11/2/2016 11:38:49 am
lyrical expression of grief and loss, I read it as a mother who has lost her child, the painting on the fridge, one of "the good souls/ carried away like wildflower blossoms/ on the wind" Very moving, beautiful!
11/2/2016 11:03:24 pm
Thank you so much for your kind words, Mary. I appreciate hearing your thoughts and insight into this poem.
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