Sonnet for Heaven Below
No, it wasn't Macondo, and it wasn't Calcutta in time
But subway magic turned the tunnels into Beautyrest mattresses
And plenty of God's children started sleeping there. Some
Were actually Angels fatigued from long hours and no pay.
This is an aside, but I have to alert you. Angels run
Around, don't shave or bathe; acid rain fractures their
Feathers, and French fries and coca-cola corrupt
The color of their skin and make them sing hoarsely.
The gossamer shoes so perfect for kicking clouds
Stain and tear on the concrete and in the hard light
Of the city they start to look like abandoned barges
Foundering in the cancerous waters of the Gowanus Canal.
Shabby gossamer shoes always arouse the derision of smart New Yorkers
Mercifully, Angels aren't tourists, so they are spared total disdain
Submitted by Jenni
“I was watching "Children of the Night” and suddenly remembered reading this poem in high school. The language is so descriptive and so sad. It reminded me of Andrew in that episode, of Monica is "There, But For...", and the other guest angels like Claire who lived among humans, to help them. The second stanza is what gets me, the part about the shoes.”