Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously


I met a guardian angel once.
He was sitting on the curb
outside a gas station
whittling a stick
with a pen knife.
His hair was in his face,
and there was no glow about him
as he hunkered
shirtless in his overalls,
dusty brogans planted wide.
But I knew he was an angel.
When he looked up
I could see thousands of years
in his eyes.
No diaphanous lace or serene smile,
but honest sweat
and the weary tolerance of a warrior,
the practiced vigilance
of someone trained to protect
and serve.
I didn’t give him away.
Their jobs are hard enough
without the distraction of notoriety.
He was carving a small eagle,
paying special attention
to the feathers
in its spread wings.

Bald Eagle

(c) RCGA 2014


Comments on: "Guardian" (3)

  1. Sounds like a magical encounter. Reminds me very much of the eagle he was carving.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Soooo good in so many ways!

    Liked by 1 person

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