What happens in the after life?

When the woman died

she’d expected to see a light at the end of the tunnel,

or her life flashing past her,

or to look down at her lifeless body,

as a soul up in the ether,

isn’t this what the books had told her to expect?

Instead,

she found herself at four-years-old

eating cold, slippery litchis in the kitchen

juice dripping down her chin,

spitting smooth seeds into a green plastic bowl.

And then, she was fourteen,

riding a bicycle through an empty street

the breeze swaying her braids, so their ends tickled the sides of her neck

For a moment she was six,

in the middle of the afternoon staring out of a window as it rained

and abruptly at eighteen- reading a letter full of love,

at twenty-five a man kissed her gently below her right ear

at thirty her son smiled his first smile his eyes on her and her alone

at forty-three she was kissed like she was twenty-five again

at seventy-three she met an old friend at a wedding

at thirty-nine she found herself alone at home and pulled a book out of a shelf,

at fifty-five her mother’s hand sought hers as they crossed the road

at sixteen she looked into a mirror and admired her perfect teeth, every inch of her, in love with herself

at seven she poured seven smooth green glass marbles from her palm into her pocket

at sixty-six she’d followed her son into the sea and a wave sent her tumbling down, screaming

when she came up, she’d laughed and allowed another wave to toss her down,

at three in a feeling she’d felt she’d known,

she was tossed up in the air and caught again,

and so it went

days of her life lived in specific moments

of utter and complete joy

until she realised that perhaps heaven

(if you could call it that)

was just a collection of her best days on earth.