In my mind, heaven
is one narrow country road
and no streetlights.
I drive down it to meet the
fairly unconsecrated dead-
I don't enter the yard of their bodies,
but crack open the gate for their souls,
the tiny brown boys and girls
who sleep in a gentrified neighborhood
that won't be bothered to straighten
the tiny stick crosses that remember their names
(none of which the nearby residents
can bother to pronounce.)
I whisper hellogoodbye
(leaving them to
play in the impeccably maintained
schoolyard one lot over)
and slip away, because this is heaven,
and not my place.
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