Heaven is Earth?

little-angel

Dedicated to my sister.

A fleck of sunlight streaked across my niece’s hairless scalp,
My father held her close to his chest,
And her eyes gleamed
And scampered across the ceiling,
“She’s looking at angels, you know.”
My father commented
With a reassuring smile. I wondered if the angels
Were guarding,
Or observing
The delicate youth of a cooing infant.

But I like to think of angels
As humans-At once borrowing faith
In the end
Living it.

Because I refuse to believe
That a social worker battling cancer
Isn’t of Heaven’s kin.

Throughout life we borrow time,
Forgetting the luck a second provides,
Or the eternity a minute compresses.

Disease ruptures this ignorance
And moments stand-still.

Every smile,
Every laugh,
Every fart,
Benefits of living
Idealistic standards
And materialistic solutions.

A donation
To combat the moment
That comes too fast
For description.

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