"Angels"

To honor National Poetry Month, I have shared some of my work each Friday. I will leave you with this meditation on the idea that we, and nothing else, are responsible for ourselves and our survival.

Angels

Sometimes people dream of
angels on playgrounds,
swinging, sliding, giggling.
In some cultures,
people ride angels
like horses.
My mother says,
“Angels will accompany
Jesus when He comes to
cover us with His blanket.”

If I believe in them at all,
they live in the
apartment above me--
little angels with ringlets
stomping, marching, storming.
I see them staring
out of the upper windows
as if they’re blind,
as if they’re prisoners.
They live among us,
like misfits, runts.

Someone told me that
angels love doorways
and gates because they
like to go through things.
The angels above me
sound like they want
to come through the floor.
These angels are so mad,
they could rip us in two.

Last night I dreamt
I was on a runaway coach
pulled by six angels
thundering toward a cliff.
Listen, you who are
constantly crying,
begging for guidance,
they can do
nothing for you.
They are desperate, too.
Hurry, let’s get inside
before night falls.

©JEF 1994