|
|
|
|
Jill Alexander Essbaum 
The angels, in their own unkind and thoughtless way,
have given up on us, have left our lips for good, for better.
Before you know it, we´ll have frozen to our underthings,
and soon enough, the shiver of our thighs won´t seem so grave
a malady. I´ve already caught myself mid-marvel, thinking
what´s the difference, really? The last I heard, you´d taken up
kite-flying and divination. As for those angels, why just last night
I caught them sneaking out my back door, with some books,
the radio, a string of pearls, and a bed sheet tucked up under
their wing-folds, taking as much of me as they could carry.
|
