Another Heaven
by Mai Der Vang
I am but atoms
Of old passengers
Bereaved to my cloistered bones.
This rotation is my recipe,
The telling of every edition
As a landscape on slow windshields.
The body no longer
Baskets fatigue,
No envelopes with oxygen left to cure.
When funeral recites
The supper gardens of my forefathers,
Cross-stitch from my mother kin,
Then I will come to you
Dressed in my armor of earth,
Ready as you chant my tale.
When I reach the sloped halls
And hammock sun,
I won’t tell why the split orchid
Falls behind. Instead,
I tell why it arrives.
From Afterland by Mai Der Vang, Graywolf Press, ©2017
Most Poetry will post a poem by a poet of color, selected by our members, each day through the month of July.