Maureen Clark
Handmade Paper
drops of ink in water
spread and disappear like footprints
on the beaches of the world
the doors of perception are open
just enough to fan our hope
of an afterlife where our dead
are reborn into light where our dead
walk ahead of us towards the water
where remembering waits and then we hope
holding our invitation printed
on handmade paper to open
to the possibility of that other world
because we must in the emptiness of this world
without the one we love we must imagine death
as a veil or a door that will absolutely open
absolutely lead to heaven where waterfalls
of knowledge will pour down explaining the losses printed
on our bones and it must be so hope
itself demands it the word invented for this purpose to hope
for eternity don’t you see the world
in all its ugliness holds this one seed printed
in some deep river of the heart that a place after death
exists for we invented it don’t you see the waters
existed before us and will mourn our passing open
your eyes every morning wait for perception to open
the gate oh god please keep this promise that hope
is what we dream it to be if not we become pillars of salt melting in water
the four horsemen already here leading the world
to permanent destruction where our deaths
are final and mean nothing where our footprints
vanish to nuclear shadows printed on walls
salt dissolving into water please say that hope opens the emptiness
and this world of ours is the garden of life we were promised
Afterlife
you asked what happens
after we die
I used to have
an air-tight answer
for that
but the longer I live
the less I know about
anything really
after her father died
a grasshopper
insisted on placing himself
in the driveway
where she would be sure
to see him
he was there every day
wouldn’t hop away
until he’d caught her eye
after her mother died
one honey-bee
loitered in the house
the hive was empty
a mortuary bee
cleaning up perhaps
after my friend died
his family found
lady bugs everywhere
not just the garden
but drawn in
the margins of books
calendars
at the end of letters
no one’s read in years
and it’s like that with life
we see signs
of an afterlife
when we need to
