Angels

Cosimo & Damian, Acquaviva delle Fonti’s Stella Maris chapel

They keep coming, the angels.
In the train stations they appear,
to lug my baggage down the many steps
and up again to the right track. One
even waited for the train and
lifted my bags in for me. And once
an angel from Brazil rode an extra stop
so she could help me find a seat.
The angels keep track of me perfectly,
always showing up even
when they are grumpy.

They keep coming, the angels.
A few call me Madame, but I feel
like a wandering child with grownups gone.
No one understands my babytalk,
the angels assist but do not stay.
I am made to understand I am a vessel,
something like the train, in fact,
sailing into impermanence.

They keep coming, the angels,
and now they have names, and
sometimes their help extends
even into friendship. Rosalina,
Gregory, Giovanni,
Eleonara, Jusclaide—
They make me smile inside.
Francisco, Tatiana, Armando,
Tula, Antonia, Aletta—
kindness shines about them.

They keep coming, the angels,
not always in human form. Today
a red rock shot with crystal
lying at my feet on the sand.
Too heavy to keep, I said.
I’m not for keeping, it said.
Spend the week with me, you’ll see.
You’ll change your ideas
about gifts, companionship, angels.
I want to split you open, I said.
Would that hurt?
It doesn’t matter what you want about me.
I am myself, I choose.
Just carry me, you’ll see.

They keep coming, the angels.
One night in a dream, one of them
tells me, You’re not very dead, and
you’re too young to be lost.” Oh!
I’m alive! A babe! Not lost at all,
only found by angels. Another night,
I hear angels discuss me:
“We’ll just wash her, we’ll hold her
upside down in the cave.” They take me
underground, deep in ancestor time.
Washed in the Amniotic, then
upside down, I slide
to earthly paradise.
Don’t worry, they say. We’ll keep coming.

©Susa Silvermarie 2019