Mystery Angel

                                                 Near Battle Creek, where buffalo are seen
                                                 Slumbering and grazing on the tall grass   
                                                 In a fenced field south of a herd of cows,
                                                 And just off of the road named for the lake
                                                 Named for its golden season reflection,
                                                 And on a road, meant for horse and wagon,
                                                 That does not lead to the cedars or grove
                                                 Implied by its name from another time,
                                                 There is a farm- where Great Blue Heron feast
                                                 In the fields on stalks of corn harvested
                                                 By a lessee since no farmer lives there-
                                                 Where the past tries to survive the present,
                                                 Where the old cow barn, that housed the horses,
                                                 Stands as a gray relic without purpose
                                                 Across from the modern four car garage
                                                 That houses an old Saturn that won’t run,
                                                 And her renter’s boat hiding from the bank;
                                                 It is here that an angel lost her wings,
                                                 Stripped away and hidden, under the steps
                                                 To the porch fronting the rustic duplex,
                                                 Until the day the wind blew off some leaves
                                                 Exposing the blue glow beneath the steps—
                                                 She bent and reached out to the radiance,
                                                 And removed the wings from their leafy grave,
                                                 And she said, “I wonder where these came from.”
                                                 She entered the house, and sat with the ghosts
                                                 That had made her forget about her wings,
                                                 That had made her forget about her life,
                                                 That had made her forget a better time,
                                                 Reaching she dropped the wings into the trash,
                                                 And picked up a book about others’ lives.