"when The Dead Are Done With The

No One On The Street Thought Anything Of The Downtown Girl Dressed In Black Who Had Paused In The Middle Of Midtown Foot Traffic. In Her Art Student Camouflage She Could Walk The Entire Length Of Manhattan And, If Not Blend In, Be Classified And Therefore Ignored.

Hold Still," My Father Would Say, While I Held The Ship In The Bottle And He Burned Away The Strings He'd Raised The Mast With And Set The Clipper Ship Free On Its Blue Putty Sea. And I Would Wait For Him, Recognizing The Tension Of That Moment When The World In The Bottle Depended, Solely, On Me.

Almost Everyone In Heaven Has Someone On Earth They Watch, A Loved One, A Friend Or Even A Stranger Who Was Once Kind, Who Offered Warm Food Or A Bright Smile When One Of Us Had Needed It. And When I Wasn’t Watching I Could Hear The Others Talking To Those They Loved On Earth: Just As Fruitlessly As Me, I’m Afraid. A One-sided Card Cajoling And Coaching Of The Young, A One Way Loving And Desiring Of Their Mates, A Single-sided Card That Could Never Get Signed.

I Was Like I Was In Science Class: I Was Curious.

For Me, Heaven Would Be A Lack Of Alienation. The Whole Time I Was Growing Up, I Felt Comfort Was Inherently Evil. I Think That For Me Heaven Isn't About Couches And Milk Shakes And Never Having A Troubling Thought Again.