Angel

After Jack Gilbert

The angel flies up, taking me with her. I’m airborne. Cloths flow from my body, but I somehow feel naked. There’s music. Tiny people are dancing, holding hands, swirling in a circle that never stops. Is this what heaven feels like? When I was young, my father told me stories of the sky, of a God I could never see. He told me that when we die, our souls will belong to heaven. I tried to believe him, prayed my little heart out until I could. But in the end, I could never be that long-legged beauty walking through the dirty streets. I belong to this Earth—this world that never stops revolving, and I hope never will. I feel on Earth, sometimes I feel so much that I cry tears that can fill a river, and other times joy that can light up a room. My heart yearns for the ground that will always be there to support me when I’m alive and when I die. I want my soul to be buried in the ground that smells of musky raindrops with my body. The angel is still ascending, taking us higher and higher, through the clouds, to the destination my dad dreamed of going to. But I let go. I let go and fall down, down, down to the ground where I belong.