Public Republic

Russ Kesler

Photo: h.koppdelaney

Dear all,
just wanted you to know I’ve arrived.
I don’t remember much about the journey
except that it was pleasant. A woman
I traveled with said she hoped to find
her husband. I haven’t seen her since,
but all the folks I’ve met have been real nice.
It’s quiet here—no choirs of angels,
no heavenly host. We go about our days
alone together.
The reason that I write
is just to tell you that I’m fine. My breath
comes easy now, the air is sweet. I know
you worried so about me, in that bed.
I’m sorry that I told you I was frightened.
I was, of course. Toward the end, someone
said the Twenty-Third Psalm in my ear.
I knew that voice and couldn’t seem
to place it. But it helped.
I thought that I’d
have more to say when I started this.
There’s really no such thing as news up here,
if I’m above you, the way the Bible
had it. I thought I’d miss you, but I don’t.