What if this is all we get of heaven?
—James Crews

As she lived her dying, my friend Julie
told me that she thought everyone
got the heaven they imagined.

Hers would be slathered in pink,
her favorite color, enjoy the just-right
temperature between warm and cool,
where she’d happily receive her
adored ones popping in for visits.

Heaven, I ventured, sounded
much like her earthly life.

Well, of course, honey, she said.

So if this is all we get of heaven,
my here and now works for me.
Though the greater world roils, I
find myself near the end of the day
writing inside my century-old house
with so much summer evening outside
that two men work in tandem to
dismantle a great length of backyard
fence, planting new redwood posts
into fresh concrete just before dark.

I walk outside to behold the
wide-angle view into the yard
next door, the embracing space
all the way to the alley—one man
spiraling an auger into the earth,
the other smoothing postholes
rimmed with fluffy dirt.

Isn’t this honest, sweaty effort
expended on my behalf surely
a divine gift, too?

Such caretaking by gentle men—
like my current beloved, as well as
my late father and long-gone
husband—who each performed
a thousand tasks, often unseen,
too often unappreciated—
on my behalf,

still working from their heavens
to make sure I have everything
I need—and so much more.