Heaven

Heaven


Everyone has gone. But not
for good.
A woman's sweater
on the bed still
holds her
scent.
So she'll be back.
But for now, potatoes
baked to warm
in butter, wait
until you're hungry.
And the dog won't
chase the grackles
from the tree.
That way, you can
learn to
differentiate
the blue-black males
from their light brown
gentler mates.
Why does every branch of nature
sound that way?
The angels, probably,
are smooth, light women
who love you
just the way you are.


Joseph Somoza