"Untitled II," Aradhna Tandon
	Amy Miller Heaven I had a dream of heaven and it was a room full of food, rum cakes and sugar stews and six or seven giant roasted moa birds. We all just ate, just let our tongues discern the salt and shudder under the sweet and let it all go down like heaven was a holding cell for pleasure. And why not tell God to keep the oven hot? We'll be longing for soft loaves and sin puddings after our lives have been hammered down to nothing by our hearts that grew too fat, by driven, dour cancers that ruined everything that mattered, by our  own strange blood that couldn't handle sweets. We'll be ready to sit down and swallow heaven by the handful.