“Instead of going to heaven at last, I’m going all along.”--Emily Dickinson

This morning I plodded in pajamas
and bare toes toting my full water pitcher,
prepared as an offering for my
hanging blue Fan plant. The tall
grass washed my feet as Jesus might.

I was met by a congregation
of glad-handed Hostas greeting
and touching me, choirs of Clematis
robed in purple, jovial Jonquils clad in yellow,
sun-facing Spiderworts, and sweet green Mint
mingled with spicy Oregano, breathing
their fragrances, glistening and glowing
in sunlight and dew.

They danced when they saw me;
asked no questions, made no judgments,
anointed me with dew, toweled my dusty
feet with warm sun, then sent me on
to do for another what they had done for me.

This poem won the 2014 Illinois State Poetry Society Competition in Free Verse and first appeared in the ISPS Newsletter (2014, Issue 6).
Used here with the author’s permission.