The House of God has Secret Rooms

Small doors open onto terraced gardens….

Or junkyards.

Emily did you find a garden?

Are there Redwood trees where you live now?

Is there life after?

Opal wants to join you… if there are rabbits to chase

and other dogs to sniff.

Will you be knitting hats with celestial fingers?

Knit, pearl, dream.

Or have you outgrown all those skeins of wool, angora, alpaca,

pashmina… soft as your cheek? Don’t forget itchy mohair.

We are all full of questions

because we can’t remember ever being dead.

Do you need courage there?

You had so much… if you’re not needing it anymore send some home, please.

Is it truly astonishing?

When you crossed back to infinite painless timeless

boundary free space-less-ness

did ancestors bless you in Italian, Celtic and

Nordic welcome songs, dancing, drumming?

Is it a place? A new place?

Or a simple fold in the fabric we call reality?

Your BirthKeeper mother is here EarthSide,

she has kneeled between Elysium and trembling Terra.

She is the lap of heaven, with small

bubbles in her voice, peace in her hands,

Mary could use a sign from you.

And the father who called you to his universe

to share devotion, a cozy home, long hikes in the woods,

a tree-like body to lean against, a cluttered kitchen with

tea pots and pasta on the boil, do you still see him?

Marco wanted to protect you as elder siblings do.

He’ll be crawling through proper feelings, anger, crushing helplessness,

the anguish of missing you. Of knowing you're right here,

where he cannot hug you.

Emily, Body Radical, you are right here, wherever dance is.