On Sunday,

I walked into your grandmother’s room

And sat with her while no one else bothered,

Listening to the rise and fall of her breathing machine.

She took my hand

And told me her husband has been gone for thirty years

But he’s standing in the doorway now

And she’s ready to go dance with him in Heaven’s golden ballroom.

On Monday,

I slipped into the baby’s crib

And hushed his cries with the calmest lullaby I knew.

He closed his eyes just in time for his midnight feeding

And never had to worry about hunger again.

On Tuesday,

I listened to the rumbling of semis under the interstate overpass

And the ramblings of the veteran—

Says it was a thankless job.

I understand the sentiment better than anyone.

But it’s time to go—

Where the zipping of bullets does not keep you up at night.

The afterlife has more to offer than three hots and a cot—

On Wednesday,

I stumbled across a fawn whose mother’s head hangs over a mantle

And she bleats for warmth.

I envelop her in the comfort of darkness

And show her big, open fields with endless green in sight.

On Thursday,

I visited the morgue to see if there were any fresh faces without a name.

It was a boy under the sheet, no more than seventeen.

He divided in two,

Rising from the slab like a hologram—

He’s been wandering the halls

With no sense of direction, he said.

He’s just glad he doesn’t have to spend another cold night alone.

On Friday,

I needed a break. How many more souls are there even left to take?

Oh, wait—

The job is never done.

But I need a day off. Just one.

Saturday rolls around

And I think I’m in the clear.

I took a look in the mirror

And saw the one who got away

Standing behind me.

She extended her hand

And told me Heaven had been expecting me all week.