Un dios se me acercó en la caída,
--doliente, sucia de cera vieja--
y debe haber sido un dios loco,
un abandonado por los cantores y las fes,
un rencoroso y un mezquino, presto tan sólo
a la venganza, pues me preguntó:
¿sabes cuál es tu otro pecado?
Y me lo dijo, ya a muy poco
de que mi cuerpo rompiera el techo inflexible,
anhelado, envidioso
de las aguas
y la memoria de las gentes.
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An Angel's Confession
Jennifer Ley
"... the vision concerns the time of the end."
--Daniel 8:16-17
They all talk about walking into the bright light
and then coming back, waking up in emergency rooms,
on kitchen floors, at the office on the grey industrial rug,
staring up at doctors, paramedics dangling wires and
paddles, loved ones with relief in their eyes.
And they think they have returned from the light
with nothing, but now, I am inside them. This is how
we get to walk the earth. Since the days of Lazarus
when Jesus gave his favorite, Remiel, a chance
to see the world inside a human body, smell flowers,
love a wife, hug a child, this has been our reward.
For heaven is a place of wonder, but the earth
and its small mysteries and mistakes, this is what
an angel has never known. Over the years, some have
sensed our presence, have called us guardians, pictured
us standing on their shoulders. We go by the name
of 'super-ego' with men and women of science,
'conscience' with the followers of religions -- but
our impact is much slighter, or that is what
we are given to know. Of course some of us
have a better time on earth than others.
We still cannot stop the weeping of Saraqael,
who rode inside the shell of Goering. He has
made God promise never to send him again, and we
sigh with him for our shared weakness. Others
have witnessed smaller, but equally sad mistakes,
ridden fathers who liked their daughters too well,
or not enough, mothers who lost the art of suckle
or never knew it. And though we cannot stay
the hand that strikes, we like to think the better
moments bear the imprint of our upward
flutter. Easier always to assist, Gabriel says, than
to contradict or restrain. And those of us
who have danced with Nureyev or Graham, painted
with Brueghel and Bosch, sketched with Goya
and Leonardo, perhaps we have been allowed
to reveal a small part of what we know for those
who were ready to see. Michael says it is all
in the light, ascension on earth or into heaven,
or the lack of it. It is always he who welcomes
us home when we arrive, another tired, crumpled
body, eyes wide and staring, in our scarred
and feathered arms."
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