Wheat Field at St. Paul, Pastel, by John Cummings
More Trees and a Stream
I think maybe in heaven there will be
Roads with the soil pounded white
Or roads never used in a long time,
In a desert with a few scrub trees
And maybe farther down that road
More trees and a stream, but you
Are not there yet, and you know
One of your brothers is already there
Meditating on the water and the fishing
He dreamed of doing this as a child, and he is there,
Perhaps with a buddy who died of an overdose,
But all of that is forgotten by them, they are free
They are not expecting you, or maybe they
Already know somebody is coming.
____________
Zeke Sanchez
Review by Claire Scott
A lovely poem of approaching death and imagining what heaven will be like. At first bleak, “a desert with a few scrub trees,” but then the more hopeful line “more trees and a stream.” It feels comforting that the speaker’s brother is already there, living his childhood dream. And the buddy who is now free from the suffering of drugs. The last two lines are fabulous. I got goosebumps.