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.
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