straight whistle clean through the valentine heart of God
how could we not launch our tiny arrows
send him scrawled messages in a bottle
to wash up on Heaven's shore
cork it open read it my baby heart cried
making poems out of all his rosebuds
star showers in the backyard
caught by my grandfather in a rusty pail
the rust of heaven we cried
if only he had not died, my Grandfather,
God on the cover of Time
God on the cover of Time
and we had stayed walking by his side
or here's our candy sampler box
with the biggest ribbon yet, pink silk
and giant cardboard heart
rolled up to the Pearly...
still it's not enough
and maybe we risk being even a little tacky
(my Grandmother's bane, that word)
and ricky racky with our handmade goods
but Lord, dear Lord,
we wish we could
could really be
your valentine
and send you the gluiest reddest truest heart
the best we have
construction paper red
well, it's a start.
p.s. plus sweet tarts, with little pastel messages, all You can eat.
Who needs a treat more than You do.
