NO HALO

Digitally enhanced photo by S. Auberle

NO HALO

Not supposed to write poems about angels,

so my writing teacher says,

no sunsets, roses, rainbows, doves.

Hard realism, he says,

but I like angels:

grievous, fallen, tarnished,

those flying too close to the ground,

Virtues, Dominions,

the Thrones and Principalities,

Cherubim and Seraphim

the quirky ones,

those hunky warrior types.

I love them all, like this one

I found today in my favorite

second-hand shop on the shelf

marked "damaged goods."

Serene, exquisitely so,

and I could find nothing wrong

until I turned her upside down

and read on the base

angel with no halo.

Our eyes met, celestial bells chimed

as two kindred souls embraced.

She knew me, I tell you,

and she was the angel

I'd been searching for all my life:

serene, with a sense of humor,

yet full of hard realism.

Whatever she'd done

to lose her halo, it was nothing

I hadn't done too, or at least

seriously considered. Damaged goods,

who isn't?

- mimi