Heaven’s Hat Rack by Laura Ingram

Heaven’s Hat Rack 

In Loving Memory of Paige Gong (1992-2019)

I.

Dropping my pennies every Sunday into the offering plate, 

I know better than to ask my grandmother 

pleather purse clutched close on her lap 

if God ever gives anything back. 

God, maybe a neighbor with a big black dog, 

God, maybe a hitchhiker with axle grease under his thumbnail 

waiting for a way home 

God could be anyone I didn’t know.

God could show up at my door in the middle of the night 

asking for gasoline 

and I’d give it to him, with a dixie cup of coffee, too. 

I would not be afraid in my nightgown, 

threadbare as a bad dream. 

I would pray on my knees for hours after. 

II.

I’d like to think that you took the bus 

to Heaven, that you got to carry 

your suitcase of moonrock and champagne bubbles 

with you for the ride. 

You, given a duffel bag and a body to empty and fill, 

to fold every sunset you ever saw into,

so many blues you had to sit on top of it zip it up. 

I hope there were billboards advertising eight-eyed angels 

And I hope when you got there, someone

took your coat, showed you the hat rack, asked if you’d like to 

sit down somewhere while dinner’s still in the oven. 

I hope God himself passed you the potatoes. 

III.

I still know better than to ask my mother

if God ever gives anything back

but every day I wish you’d let yourself in with the spare key

I leave it under the mat, obvious, in case you come home. 

I don’t care if you possess the paintings on the walls on your way,

if you come in through the pipes, the cat flap, or the mailbox. 

I don’t care if you flicker the lights for fun, or make the milk go bad. 

You won’t scare me, I promise. 

Someday, I’m sure you’ll appear beside me in the mirror, both of us

with bedhead. We will brush our teeth together, 

and I will know you whether you bring

your body or not.

I will say good morning again. 

Laura Ingram is the young poet and author of five collections; The Taffeta Parable, Junior Citizen's Discount, The Solitude of the Female Preying Mantis, and Animal Sentinel. Laura lives in rural Virginia and has served as Poetry Editor for The Blue Mountain Review. She enjoys most books and all cats.