Early Morning Resurrection

We stumble bleary-

eyed into heaven,

hung-over from life,

stinking of garlic, onions,

the sweet earth that

devoured us

a million tiny bites at a time

as we lay in the big bed of Death;

dreamless sleep

undisturbed by noisy neighbors,

snoring, or alarm clocks—

oh, Jesus,

there goes that trumpet

(more like a goat bleat)

calling all deadheads to rise—

I throw back the earth

cursing the early hour,

then lay back for a ten-minute snooze.

-Geoffrey Griffard