by Deidre Braley
HEAVEN IS A SPEAKEASY
Author’s note: This poem explores the idea that the supernatural world is woven into the fabric of this natural world. Though it is sometimes invisible, it is there, and if we remember to knock, to ask, to go looking for it, we'll find that it has always been hiding in plain sight—rooted amongst the tangible stuff of our everyday lives.
Hidden governance, he called it,
that is, the learned theologian
who wrote of laughing empires
who never think to unzip
the universe to see
who really runs the thing.
We are all happy to believe
we run the thing. Or in the very
least, we forget where to look for seams,
for signs, for shivering
inklings that the tenor of majesty
trembles through all things.
Heaven knows I forget.
But the night of the pink
sunset, when we lay like little
snuffed-out flames in the cool
sweeping grass, each with a grief
that could yawn us right in,
I half-thought that if we climbed
to the top of the willow that
wept over us we could
push through the embered
clouds and feel around for
cracks until we’d hit some secret
spot and fall
face-first
into the speakeasy of heaven.
Yes, that’s it. Maybe heaven
is a speakeasy and maybe
what they say is true:
to find it, all you have to do
is to knock and knock and knock
and before long
you’ll fall through.
DEIDRE BRALEY
Deidre Braley is an educator, editor, and freelance writer who is pursuing an MDiv from Pillar Seminary. She writes regularly on her Substack, The Second Cup, and hosts the corresponding podcast, The Second Cup Show. Deidre is also the author of the short poetry collection, The Shape I Take. She lives in Maine with her husband and three children. Her book on delight debuts with Revel in 2027.