Curtains moved from
forced air; staring at the window
she knew, she needed angel wings.
A television blasted
through empty walls: feet, cold,
skin breaking, stockings lost;
His fingers long and slender – his eyes
hurt, knowing she was watching, and
his body jerked as he walked.
Cold feet on a strangers bed –
She is an angel yet no one taught her
to fly, so she remained still, never
moved – closing her eyes she fell
off to sleep.
Someone told her he would lock doors
and take everything she needed to fly,
he was a madman, and there on a bed
lay a lifeless angel.
There was no way out – no walking,
no screaming – no strength to toss a
chair to break glass – so high from the
ground, and her wings never grew.
She prayed, let them sprout. . .
Everyone seemed polite, and the angel
trusted all, believing life is good.
It was something in his voice,
she told us, and his smile turned
his body to stone; a sick man, but
no one warned her about his change
She explained, “Even if my angel wings
had grown – I had no way to know
the way home. The air, below zero.