PETER SCHIRESON

Report from the Afterlife

At first, you won’t speak the language, 
so things might feel a bit unstable, 

but don’t worry,
the announcer is always in a good mood. 

And there’s no penitential regime, 
no hard facts, no prudish accounting. 

Every afternoon, a cocktail combo plays lavender music 
while people sit under lilacs and simply breathe. 

Sound drizzles down through the air, 
the melody modest but polished, 

and the furnishings glow, lustrous drape of brocade 
foliage and beasts woven into the folds. 

There are martinis and Chinese noodles, 
the afterlife at its most relaxed. 

As to your identity, pearls 
against a white dress.