Heaven would be a place where everything you ate was good for you, and things
that you thought tasted awful were lush and savory and sensuous, like seaweed,
and hummus, and Brussel sprouts, and Wheatina.
Hell would be closing your eyes every day feeling you have
to vomit but not being able to.
Heaven would be knowing you taught your boys well, to not
merely survive, but to soar, to fly above you, to teach you contentment.
Hell would be every day swimming against the rip tide with
your boy alone on the speedboat, seven years old and singing to himself, and
everyone’s gone and what were you thinking, leaving him by himself in a little
boat in the ocean, and you’ve turned around and are swimming as hard as you
ever had and getting no closer and you’re tired and your will is sinking and
his sweet high voice is talking to you and you never get close and you never
drown and he never knows.
Heaven would be knowing you know better that all the
distrusting voices in your head.
Hell would be knowing your memory was slipping away, just
always out of reach, like a speedboat in the ocean.
Heaven would be closing your eyes every night knowing in
every dream you would fly.
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