At Heaven’s Gates

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Abstract

ful and prolonged. The cancer ate at my bones and muscles. Time does not heal the pain. It only gives shape to our suffering. Some lovers are easily forgotten, much like the rain on a sunny afternoon. Others sink beneath the skin and poison the blood. Only one ever found her way into my heart. She was the mother of my children and the giver of hope. Now, I wait patiently for the gates to swing wide and the angels to sound the trumpets. A few feet from me sits a small girl. She can’t be more than five or six. She is tossing pebbles into the stream and chanting a lullaby. She must have been a pretty little girl once. Now, her face is disfigured, like she has been burned. She sometimes looks at me and smiles. I nod my head and wink. She laughs and sticks a pebble in her mouth. Before my eyes, she blossoms into a young woman, with a heavy sack tied to her back. I wonder if I am being tested by God. If the path to heaven is not as simple as I thought. The young woman hands me a pebble and mo

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tions for me to put it in my mouth. I ask no questions. I simply do as she asks and wait. My mind explodes into thousands of images flashing rapidly across my retina. Images from my life. Places that I’ve been. People whom I’ve met. People whom I remember. People whom I have forgotten. But she is not there. Not one single image. As if she was erased from my past. As if she had not been a part of my life. As if she had vanished. Some of the images make me cry. Others make me laugh. Sometimes I cringe in terror. I feel a cleansing water wash over my soul and hear a voice saying, “Welcome home, my son!” I find myself transported beyond the gate into a small stone room with few windows and no door. Then I see her standing there in all her radiant beauty. I take her in my arms and kiss her before she has a chance to disappear. And in my heart, I am thankful for the warmth of her smile and for what God has chosen to give me.</p><p id="d877">Copyright © 2020 by Harley King</p></article></body>

A Love Poem

Canva-Photo by Macyvi — 7546022

I wait quietly for the gates of heaven to be opened and for Saint Peter to extend his hand welcoming me home. I am sitting on a rocky ledge overlooking a pale green valley with small streams flowing into a distant lake. A narrow dirt path stretches out into the brush. Thousands of people are sitting around waiting. We have been here for five days and no one has come to open the gate. Rumor has it that the angels are on strike. I don’t put much stock in gossip. I was hoping to find my lover here. She left me a dozen years ago when I least expected it. I dreamed that she had gone to heaven and would be waiting for me with open arms. I prayed to God, begging Him to take me home. He was slow to answer. My own death was painful and prolonged. The cancer ate at my bones and muscles. Time does not heal the pain. It only gives shape to our suffering. Some lovers are easily forgotten, much like the rain on a sunny afternoon. Others sink beneath the skin and poison the blood. Only one ever found her way into my heart. She was the mother of my children and the giver of hope. Now, I wait patiently for the gates to swing wide and the angels to sound the trumpets. A few feet from me sits a small girl. She can’t be more than five or six. She is tossing pebbles into the stream and chanting a lullaby. She must have been a pretty little girl once. Now, her face is disfigured, like she has been burned. She sometimes looks at me and smiles. I nod my head and wink. She laughs and sticks a pebble in her mouth. Before my eyes, she blossoms into a young woman, with a heavy sack tied to her back. I wonder if I am being tested by God. If the path to heaven is not as simple as I thought. The young woman hands me a pebble and motions for me to put it in my mouth. I ask no questions. I simply do as she asks and wait. My mind explodes into thousands of images flashing rapidly across my retina. Images from my life. Places that I’ve been. People whom I’ve met. People whom I remember. People whom I have forgotten. But she is not there. Not one single image. As if she was erased from my past. As if she had not been a part of my life. As if she had vanished. Some of the images make me cry. Others make me laugh. Sometimes I cringe in terror. I feel a cleansing water wash over my soul and hear a voice saying, “Welcome home, my son!” I find myself transported beyond the gate into a small stone room with few windows and no door. Then I see her standing there in all her radiant beauty. I take her in my arms and kiss her before she has a chance to disappear. And in my heart, I am thankful for the warmth of her smile and for what God has chosen to give me.