The Blue-Eyed Angel

I watched her fall, delicate, white.

That’s how all angels look at first,

hair curled, wings full and feathery.

She flirted with the edges of clouds,

imagined herself losing weightlessness,

body suddenly becoming heavy, pulling.

That’s what happens to those who fall.

Gravity yanks them down like an anchor

dug deep in muddy soil. She had always

wanted to leave, never really fit with the rest.

Cracked her halo. Always lusting for mortal men:

fleshy bodies, wrinkles on the edges of their eyes

when they smiled. Something attractive

in their impermanence, in the unknown.

The other angels gasped when she fell,

but my heart ached to feel solid grains of sand

beneath my toes, the rough texture of a man’s

calloused palm pressed against my own.

The other angels turned their heads. But I see her.

Our eyes will meet when she looks to the sun,

smile on her face and a twinkle in her blue eyes.


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