The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Myrna Stone

To My Parents in the Hereafter

1

Does your mother, Estella, come to you,

Father, toting biscuits and sausage gravy?

Are you six and ten at once, cast in blue?

Does your mother, Estella, come to you

trailing your siblings, that rowdy crew—

or are you twelve, tough, nobody’s baby?

Does your mother, Estella, come to you,

Father, toting biscuits and sausage gravy?

2

Are you loved there, Mother, as you were

here? Is your diadem floral, or obsidian?

Who buys you Snickers, who buys you fur?

Are you loved there, Mother, as you were

here? In the cosmic wind is your line a blur

of angel down, or Father’s sodden woolens?

Are you loved there, Mother, as you were

here? Is your diadem floral, or obsidian? 

3

Where will I find you, or will you find me

abroad in Zion? Will I feel my remaking?

Is joy synchronous in the astral sea?

Where will I find you, or will you find me? 

Are souls distinguishable, are they free,

or bound each to each in an infinite waking?

Where will I find you, or will you find me

abroad in Zion? Will I feel my remaking?