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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I had no idea how long I had been in this heavenly paradise, but I had been searching for one soul for quite a while. Searched all libraries, and there were 17,718 libraries, for us angels loved to smile. Nothing could make you smile better than a good book, right? But she was not there in any of them, none of the souls felt right. I started through the gardens next, as my mother forced us to do it, and with ease. Every summer we planted potatoes, corn, cucumbers, radishes, and peas. I was hopeful once, when a blue angel-faerie flitted precariously close to my eyesight. “Your earth-mother is not here,” she whispered. “Think of other things she did, things for others, so bright.” That let out the choir practices, as my mother whisper-sang, hoping no one knew. She was tone-deaf. And she felt her froggy voice was as ridiculous as price of a Jimmy Choo. A few days went by, anyway, it felt like days, but in Heaven it is impossible to know. You get what you think you are getting, so here I sat in spring, while others frolicked in the snow. “Heads up!” an angel-nymph whispered, in a partner-in-crime-way, if at all. I protected my head instead, expecting to be plastered with another freezing snowball. There was a lot of loud giggling as a cold hard missile-like glob of white landed on my shoulder. I looked over and the spanking brand new hooligans waved from their cat-seat place, on a large gray boulder. They were extra fond of me as I was the only angel-in-training in throwing proximity wearing a Waive-Too. A waive-too is a yellow glittering vest that lets the new angel-kinds know it is okay to do silly stuff to you. “Have you seen my mother?” I hollered. They all three stood up and pointed in a different way. This made me laugh. Even in heaven, it is funny that kids still spend time in this kind of play. After I had given up my search, knowing I was never finding her, I began busying myself with other stuff. I was down to the dregs of my list – pool halls, boy-ly shows, finally bingo parlor, where play the toughest of the rough. I was made to play, as it is considered bad luck by these serious-gamers, if you simply watch their cards. I had brought a notebook, so I half-as**edly played bingo, while I wrote poetry notes, like important bards. “BINGO!” she’s got bingo, yelled, the woman who was wearing pink curlers, a cigarette, and hair in a Pom. A woman began shrieking “I never thought I’d see you here!” I turned and smiled. It was my precious Mom. We hugged so tightly, but the natives began getting irritated, because they took their Bingo seriously. “It is where the toughest ones reside, “ said Mom, their caller. “I got used to helping these kinds of friends. Later we’ll have tea. So heaven ended up a terrific place for the bingo ladies, my mom and me.
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