An Angel Tries Petty Theft

After the sky swallowed it’s tongue,

monarchs came out of hiding.

Black cats in kaftan dresses

charleston across a wet field

& the angel busies herself

bunny-looping her laces.

 

Getting to bravery isn’t such hard work.

 

The angel cups her hand ‘round the moon,

ripe clementine, whispers

Mine.

 

Pine needles fan across the velvet blue valley

like pen outlines.

The angel is proud to have noticed.

 

Nightjars nest, felt cut-outs

glued to paper-mâché birch limbs

& a hut, chicken-legged, bends

to make getting in easier.

The angel nibbles a blade of grass,

imagines sharp teeth sinking into her shoulder.

Finally, a straight shot to heaven,

an elevator made of sticks

& magic.

Finally, someone to do the heavy lifting

for her.

Starlight spills through the window

& the angel readies her needle.

Silver ribbon dreamy, something almost witchy.

 

But enough of that, already.

 

Sometimes, the world really does seems to stop

at the end of the canvas.

Tree moans and cricket clicks,

a shrieking midnight sonata.

The angel listens until she doesn’t.

She hushes fireflies,

waits for the mist to settle, slips into something

more comfortable.  Now, now.

Hands emerge from the ground,

daturas, urgent trumpets,

& the angel still regrets nothing.


Amanda Marie Gaines is a Ph.D. nonfiction candidate in OSU’s creative writing program. She is the nonfiction editor of Into the Void. Her poetry and nonfiction are published or awaiting publication in Pithead Chapel, Yemassee, Redivider, New Orleans Review, Southeast Review, and Ninth Letter, among others.

… return to Issue 13.3 Table of Contents.