This other angel, though

A poem with folded wings.

Photo by DESIGNECOLOGIST on Unsplash

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Not long ago a friend told me that she keeps this poem where she can find it easily and re-read it when she needs to. That’s one of the best things somebody’s ever said about one of my poems, and it made me think that it might be time to share this one again (it’s been a while), in case anyone else needs to meet its main character.

Maybe not everybody’s angel, though she’s willing to be. People who naturally respond to danger and injustice with a burst of energy and a ten-point action plan (mad respect to them) may find this angel redundant. Even those folks, though, in moments when they let themselves feel a little tired, might find her company refreshing. Those of us who are prone to freeze and hide … well, we’re the ones she comes looking for.

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THE OTHER ANGEL                                                               2023


Her great kindred, the shining ones, appear in this world
at moments of crisis, of kairos, of catastrophe,
appear to some poor soul just muddling along
the edges of God’s plan, and open with: “Don’t be afraid.”

The first thing they say always, the shining great ones:
“Don’t be afraid.” This other angel, though,
their tender little sister, knows better than to lead
with that command. She knows that ship has sailed.

She knows a visit from God’s messenger holds no more terror,
for those she greets, than any chance encounter. She knows 
when fear runs like a serum in your veins, “Don’t be afraid”
sounds like a summons to a blood-soaked altar.

What can she say to those who can’t tell where the world’s
affliction ends, and they begin? Who feel their trembling
and urge to hide, their very safety, as insult and betrayal
to those whose lives are mangled by catastrophe?

She says, Look around, touch three familiar things.
She says, Drink some water, maybe eat a piece of fruit.
She says, Time for fresh air, and if walking out the door
is too much for today, crack open a window.

She says, Here is the task to which God calls you:
stay in your own skin. Be the one you are,
let God be All, tend all. You tend your one small life,
make living it your act of faith, your prayer.

She says, Let God be All, tend all. Meanwhile, believe
that there is room, need even, between crisis and catastrophe,
for you to have a meal, a wash, a glimpse of someone’s cat
across the street, stretched sleeping in a window.