by Maggie Anderson

    Who would have thought the afterlife would

    look so much like Ohio？ A small town place，

    thickly settled among deciduous¹ trees.

    I lived for what seemed a very short time.

    Several things did not work out.

    Casually² almost， I became another one

    of the departed， but I had never imagined

    the tunnel of hot wind that pulls

    the newly dead into the dry Midwest

    and plants us like corn. I am

    not alone， but I am restless.

    There is such sorrow in these geese

    flying over， trying to find a place to land

    in the miles and miles of parking lots

    that once were soft wetlands. They seem

    as puzzled as I am about where to be.

    Often they glide³， in what I guess is

    a consultation⁴ with each other，

    getting their bearings， as I do when

    I stare out my window and count up

    what I see. It's not much really：

    one buckeye tree， three white frame houses，

    one evergreen⁵， five piles of yellow leaves.

    This is not enough for any heaven I had

    dreamed， but I am taking the long view.

    There must be a backcountry of the beyond，

    beyond even this and farther out，

    past the dark smoky city on the shore

    of Lake Erie， through the landlocked passages

    to the Great Sweetwater Seas.

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