A child’s experience with angels
“Mom, why do angels have wings?”
“To fly between the worlds and watch over you.”
The day my Grandma died, it was cold.
The wind picked up the
leaves in swirls.
They brushed against my face like wings.
My Uncle cried.
Muffled tears through a heaving body.
Grandma looked like a witch in her coffin.
Nose hooked to greet her chin.
From my corner I watched people touch her.
Grandpa kissed her cheek.
What does dead feel like?
I reached into her coffin to quickly skim my fingers across her folded hand.
Cold. Ice.
Later in the line up when I shook the old people’s hands, they were cold.
Like Grandma’s in her coffin.
I didn’t cry.
Because, I remember her throwing a plum at Dad from her hospital bed.
And in my dreams, she drew up from that bed and grabbed me.
I screamed and screamed but she did not let go.
She never sat down to answer my questions.
And I don’t think Dad remembers how to make her tapioca pudding.
She forgot to tell me who she was.
Grandma, do you like your wings?
~ Kaja Montgomery
1998
