First Day in Heaven
by Mary Ann Meade



What if I never stop wailing
for the lost heaven, there on Fifth Street,

the light on your hair more than enough.
What if I wander through eternity

without a soul, our name star but
an ash tray with no match lit.

What if suddenly scared, I break
into a run, make an unseemly presence,

there in the luminosity of space.
What if I cannot rejoice, but creep about,

fumbling for the house key, my wallet.
What if you too become scared, move from Fifth Street.

What if we never stop wailing,
a disturbance of homeostasis in space

and on earth, our name star but
an ash tray with no match lit.







Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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