Poetry By
Johnny Rocket
Published on: 2/11/2008
Angels, Gramma, and Questions
Mi abuela talks about the angels, los angeles, in the russet corners of the sunset in heaven dancing just for us, she says, dancing just for us. Now in the morning I once more squint and look for mine at graying skies on each day devoted to a different God from different places so that they won't get offended except for the sun's days which are generally worshipful where she sits at full pews and generally prays to hers. She only ever talks of the angels and mentions God once in a while in passing a touching glance off the one god who didn't get a day so appropriated one after the fact. Mi abuela says you get up in the morning and you pray, generally speaking, she's not particular, and then you move one foot after another because it's a joint effort. She sits at pews on Sundays and talks progress reports.
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