The Bottom Reaches Of Heaven

The Bottom Reaches Of Heaven

By Steve Brightman

Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons, adapted by Scott Bolohan

Vida Blue
was in green and gold

and that summer was
our first communion.

Vida Blue
was in green and gold

and his right knee
scraped the bottom reaches

of heaven without
asking for forgiveness.

Vida Blue
was in green and gold;

morning glories
were a holy shade,

crawling up along
wrought iron trellises,

bumping against
damp shingles of Ohio roofs,
 
and Oakland might as well
have been the moon or farther.   

Steve Brightman lives in Akron, OH with his wife and their green parrot who rules the roost. His latest book of poetry, The Circus of His Bones, was released during the pandemic by Kung Fu Treachery Press. He firmly believes there are only two seasons: winter and baseball.