Ten Years Old

Let’s just say for once you were
Aware everyone was gone.
Small believer that you were,

Of course you assumed the worst,
Assumed it was unbelief
That had marooned you, left you

Beneath redemption, left you
Behind. All the other times,
You either hadn’t noticed

The hour the house was empty
Save for you, or you’d been told
You’d be a while on your own.

This time, it was the closest
You’d ever come to living
Your life as an afterlife.

You surfaced from your reading
Into the quiet sunlight
Of the empty living room

And knew there was no one there.
The angels had come for them—
Siblings, parents—but left you.

Your unbelief was exposed.
Heaven had opened and closed.
You were on the other side

Of doors you couldn’t open.
As the fear of suffering
That was about to find you

Clutched at your believer’s heart,
There was a weird excitement,
A romance, one last wonder.