I’m slowly moving back into the writing world…
“Did you accomplish everything
you wanted to accomplish?”
the angel asked. We were sharing
a smoke and wandering through
the ruined city, one of the many
God decided wasn’t worth saving.
“Not really, but it doesn’t matter,”
I said and passed the cigarette.
The angel smoked thoughtfully.
The sky cracked open and poured
out blood, so we hurried under
an awning of a burned-out building.
“This was all supposed to go differently,”
the angel said and fluttered his wings.
They were damaged–he would never
fly again, but we didn’t talk about that.
“I imagine so,” I said and watched
the blood fall, thinking about my life
that was fading like exposed film.
Soon, everything would be gone.
Until then, the angel and I had half
a pack of smokes and each other,
and that, at least, was something.
2 thoughts on “Hosanna”
Lovely poem. There’s always a cigarette. x
Indeed there is.
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