—Lorne Balfe, from The Last Man on the Moon
by Maya Jacyszyn
I've never pictured heaven with a front porch, or much of heaven really, but it comes to me now clearly. There are no clouds. Why do paintings always show clouds? And so much light? I suppose upward means clouds and light, but up means the ceiling too. Funny thing it is to picture heaven as a house with ceilings, God in the main bedroom. Or does He prefer a humble life, a monk's life, sleeping under stairwell storage? Heaven is not a house, but God does have a front porch, and you stand on it. There is light, but it's more somber than artwork, like a constant state of sunset, and as you look out, there are ocean waves reflecting only your sweetest memories, then suddenly you're on it, not in it, you don't get wet, but your bare feet glaze the top like a buoy with no tremor, no worry. You sit down with crossed legs, peaceful and full-hearted. You're still — waiting, as you watch life on rewind, heart swelling, spirit swooning. It's all you are now. Sitting on God's front porch crying, smiling, watching each wave and every love, waiting for someone to tap your back and come sit beside you.
by Guilherme Bergamini
Maya Jacyszyn has recently graduated from Saint Joseph’s University, with a major in Film Studies and double minors in English and Ancient Cultures. She served as Editor-in-Chief of SJU’s literary magazine, titled Crimson & Gray, where six of her poems have been published.
Reporter photographic and visual artist, Guilherme Bergamini is Brazilian and graduated in Journalism. For more than two decades, he has developed projects with photography and the various narrative possibilities that art offers. The works of the artist dialogue between memory and social political criticism. He believes in photography as the aesthetic potential and transforming agent of society. Awarded in national and international competitions, Guilherme Bergamini participated in collective exhibitions in 49 countries.