Angels

The Music of…

twenty-two angels singing.

Yes,

they do look different,

chubby arms and legs,

mouths slightly ajar.

They don’t look like us,

don’t act like us,

but maybe that’s how its supposed to be.

Because on that stage,

singing a little too loudly,

clapping out of rhythm,

these angels are the best I’ve ever heard.

The sound they create

causes the halls to echo,

and the plush covered seats to vibrate.

The Notes?

A bit broken.

The voices?

Off key.

The heart?

Exactly in the right spot.

Twenty-two angels

with almond shaped eyes

and an extra copy of 21,

belt out praises on Christmas Eve.

Momom

She stands alone at the sink, up to her elbows in frothy water, washing her lone plate.  She didn't always have just one dish to wash.  Just a few years ago she had two.  As she thinks of him, she begins to cry.  She wipes away the tears with her wrinkled, well worn hand as she wonders, "Why?"  He was her best friend, she misses him more than anyone will ever know.  She believes that she will see him again some day, but now, she longs for his embrace.  She is 88.  They were married in 44, it would have been their 67th anniversary in July.  He was always so caring, so good with their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren.  She misses him, but it hurts to remember.  She steps back to the sink, reaches through the suds, and resumes cleaning her one plate from supper.