the angel of small forgotten things

Twelve Days of Angels Day One

I found that thing which had been lost.
Though to be honest,
I hadn’t realized it was lost.
In fact,
I had not thought of it in the least
for …
I have no idea how long.
But there it was-
in all its glory.
The thing that had been lost
or misplaced
or forgotten
was here.
In my hand.
It was now remembered.
A memory attached.
To always be that thing
that had been lost,
now found.

the angel of transubstantiation and fruitcake recipes

Angels of Childhood

(The amygdala and hippocampus
receive the information
from the olfactory bulb
before routing it to the thalamus,
already conjuring memories
before awareness of the scent
is formed in the conscious mind.)

Four eggs perch in my grandmother’s bowl
among the fragrant tangerines,
ready to take a crack into the citrus-y batter
where the luscious dates await.
The air is scented with oranges
and roasting pecans,
the fragrance from a kitchen
that no longer exists.

(revision 2017)

Angels of the Backroad

Autumn on the lake

I have lived away from cities for so long now
That my solitary nature extends to the practice of silence.
During the day,
I don’t reach to the remote for the distraction
Of TV noise or tune into music, classical or otherwise,
Only listening for the songs of wind or wing
In the morning sky
And the raucous call of crows.

Sunlight breaks across the window panes
Directing the small dog to its warmth.
I long for the days of comfort as I sit at the old table,
Dented and worn from gatherings of dearly beloveds
And simple meals that have fed my soul.

I reach for my sweater and the leash
And we walk out to the backroad down to the lake
Where the angels and I will silently commune
As the small ducks accept the gift of stale bread.

Joy

Twelve Days of Angels Day Two

Joy leapt up
Like a hare in the meadow
Like a quail on the wing
Like a fish in the sea.

Joy leapt up
And ran and jumped and skipped
And fell into my lap.

Joy said
Did you see it?
A song bright as a candle.
A light sweet as a song.
A star strong as a heartbeat.

Joy leapt up
And twirled about the room
About the earth
About the sky

Joy leapt up
From a promise
From a Word
From a womb.

Joy leapt up!

— This is a poem written many years ago and I love to share it each Christmas season – may you and yours be surrounded by joy every day. K

the angel of roadways and forest paths

Sweet face of an Angel

A string of paths criss-cross the winter meadow-
tracks of fox and deer
prove the passage of time under the moon.
But this morning,
it’s the small dog and me,
up at dawn,
moving quietly on our morning walk.

I woke from a dream of you,
the smell of hot asphalt
and stale truck stop coffee lingered
as did the sound of your voice,
laced with gravel and cigarettes,
and the twinkle in your blue eyes,
set in the well lined map,
all the roads traveled in your long life.

Hurrying toward home,
the small dog and I,
fog drenched,
walk up the forest path.
The smell of hot coffee greets us
at the end of the road.