The Angel

The Angel

Sunken cling-film skin,

and strangled death mask face

Suppurating sores volcanoed

from the once fat valleys

of wasted cheeks.

She felt death leering

from the shadows; He taunted,

but would not come to her,

eluded her grasp.

On prayer knees she implored

a God of love and mercy,

begged forgiveness and release.

No reply. No love. No mercy.

No God?

Skeletal arms ached with the burden,

the daughter, the baby, the corpse

cradled to shriveled prunes,

once givers of sustenance

Crying, mother crying

Dying, mother dying

Rocking with the wailing crescendo

it bursts the sound barrier.

A sonic boom of absolute agony

pierces the heart of a passing angel.

Pity, love, and mercy flashes white,

touches mother’s shoulder,

kisses her furrowed forehead;

cradles her to his chest.

Wrapped in wing-warmth

a soft sigh of transition.

Mother and child in silent repose,

in peace on the floor, to suffer no more.

And so.

The Angel goes.