Those Angelic Musings

She cast a wistful look At the side table As she lay on her bed weak, old and infirm Her two children with cherubic smiles Look back at her from the frame She reciprocates- a weak smile “Remember, I would say ‘You are my angels’,” She whispers to them Unlikely they would hear Both now successfully settled In their lives Their occasional phone calls The slender connection Between her ‘nostalgic’ past And ‘abandoned’ present ‘You still are my angels’ She again whispers But two treacherous tears Roll down her shriveled, hollowed cheeks While she squeezes shut her dull, moist eyes Meanwhile her delicate frame Continues to wait for the ‘real’ angels To take her away.