an angel tears its wings from its back
and remains afloat for a moment, before tumbling
below the heavens.
i’ve never been so sure of anything really
when the tearing of celestial feathers
meets thunderclap, meets heaven’s laments
on a half-hearted trumpet solo
lined up with no more hosannahs
at least for the day. no one smiles.
sometimes, the action itself
too far from done, resists
an easy fix.
no amount of stitching,
our fathers, and rosary
beads make it right.
god had dreamt a world
of peace. These damn kids kept
getting into the blood of christ.
someone had to put their foot
down. Someone had to restore
order. and no one knew the
resolve of one stubborn
angel. performance art,
maybe. a statement made.
silence, like winter. we
imagine peace. really,
it’s just waiting though