Angel Wings
Curtains – moved from
forced air: She
needed angel wings.
Told them, “A television
blasted through walls.”
Her feet,
cold, skin breaking,
stockings
lost; what belonged
to her disappeared.
His finger’s long and
slender, his eye’s
hurt, he walked and
his body jerked.
Cold feet on a
stranger’s bed –
One angel – never learned
to fly – she did not belong,
never moved –
pretending to
fall off to sleep.
He locked doors
tapped keys,
“A madman.” she said –
as her mind and body
lay lifeless.
No way out – no walking
no screaming –
no strength to toss a
chair to break glass
or wings to fly out of a
window – a window of
plate glass.
“Polite,” she told them,
“before he administered
drugs – to play games.”
Then the angel slept –
regained her trust – it
was all a dream.
“Something in his
smile,” she reported, “his
smile turned him
into stone – a sick mind,
no where to go.”
Even if her angel wing’s
had grown – those wings
could never see her home.
Her eye’s closed, her heart
pumps harder, knowing she
had days before her wing’s
would be repaired.
