Come down to the river bottoms and
fall into heaven with me —
we’ll fish for catfish and catch two or three.
We’ll take them home and grill them good
over hickory and apple-wood.
And then we’ll go up to my room
and lounge around and laze about
and have a romp between the sheets,
sweat-soaked in the afternoon heat. We’ll
steal peaches from the back of the fridge
and eat them with juice running down
our chins and bury the hatchet, hiding
the pits at the edge of the garden and
the curve of my belly in the folds of your jacket.
But my mama, she’ll find them.
My mama, she’ll see.
And when she finds out what we did
that day, she’ll come screaming and
screaming say, “Heaven has a sinner’s name
and the heart of a whore and you’re to blame.”
And she’ll make us pay and mourn that child
who was meant to be.
Go for the shotgun, my love, and run
for the hills. I’ll take the fall into heaven
and climb to the attic height
and tie the noose plenty tight.
If you enjoyed “Fall Into Heaven,” check out some more of my poetry.
All poems are housed on The Poetry Deck.