Most folks, after a certain age,
begin to wonder about Heaven.
I am reminded of the old preacher joke
that has a pastor asking an elderly lady
if she ever thinks about the hereafter.
Oh, yes, she replies, every day.
I go to the closet and say, “What am I
here after? Then I go to the kitchen…
Well, you know the rest.

When life gets difficult I visit the cemetery
where once more I’m joined with my last mate.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s up there
looking down, waiting for me so we can
reminisce about the good times we had,
Or has he reunited with his first wife, who
helped him raise three great guys and was
more beautiful than me? And what about
my first husband? A good man who’ll be there
if he can manage to relinquish control.

Perhaps Heaven is so wonderful
we forget about our lives on earth.
Can’t we look up old friends? Or must
we make all new ones? What will we talk about?
No way can we complain about the weather,
or comment on the passing seasons—or politics!
That alone might make it worth the trip.

Will we get hungry for our favorite food?
Or is that something else that we will miss?
Unless we’re satisfied to feast on spiritual food,
God must have a mighty kitchen. And who,
among our earthly chefs, would be the one
in charge? But enough. This chain of thought
has no end. But this poem does, as do I.
And as I go maybe I can say,
I’ll see you there.

EPA
August, 2023