“Holiness,” by Phillip Aijian

Phillip Aijian, an artist and educator, holds a Ph.D. in Renaissance drama and theology from UC Irvine, as well as an M.A. in poetry from the University of Missouri. He teaches literature and religious studies, and has published in journals like ZYZZYVA, Heron Tree, Poor Yorick, and Zocalo Public Square. He lives in California with his wife and children.
https://www.phillipaijian.com/

Holiness

Seminarians, pastors, right reverends
and—of course—poets, queue around
more of those Maxfield Parrish clouds. 
They approach the gates of St. Peter 
with that practiced, professional impatience,
brandishing chapbooks and peer reviewed articles,
while some fuss over their ontological arguments
for the existence of God—though no one here
needs persuading—and second-guessing 
their choice of font and citation style.
They each, in their turn, earn a modest smile
of not indifferent, if somewhat weary appraisal.

But their wives, all mothers,
are bustled through with acclamation
and unburdened of the diaper bags which,
out of habit, they insisted on bringing 
even through the turnstiles of death.

They pass in ahead of their flabbergasted husbands,
each so pure and free that not a single one tuts, 
sighs, or clucks to see the moment when
Gabriel relieves each man
of his crisp library—some have also
brought their CVs.  Then to each he hands
a duffle bag full of Pampers and wipes
which shall not be depleted 
until they have passed a thousand years in Purgatory—
or what shall seem to them a thousand years—
changing poopy diapers 
that were seldom or never before
permitted to trouble those delicate
hands and nostrils, so devoted—
wholly dedicated—to those higher things.