"...the newly dead must pass through 
a halfway house run by angels. In this
place of transit, the migrants must
choose one event from their lives
that the angels will make into a movie,
starring the migrants themselves.
Heaven is this short film, played
on an endless loop."
~ Viet Thanh Nguyen

No one leaving for the airport at dawn
as if surreptitiously, while the child
is sleeping. Instead, they walk
hand in hand, following a path

dusted by moths. No one leveling
the mountains or cutting down
all the trees. Nothing
that needs to be paid by

installment, or with gold
extracted from someone's mouth.
No one hiding under the house until
the creditors go away.

No one having to endlessly correct
grammar, our names, our being
here. A window not taped
with plastic in winter.

No disappearing into the surf, no
walking barefoot into the snow.
No pills in vials, no asking
when anything will end.

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