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Paris, 2006 It was hard to tell if they were raising or lowering it into or out of the Parisian light. Angel that could be measured in years or tons — weather-worn, pitted, gray, like all the old ideas of heaven. (If a crane had played God, it had vanished for the day.) There was a turquoise strap chained to its throat, as though a piece of sky had been torn into scraps to tether it steady. If faith is a dark cellar, the angel’s feet were just a few steps away. And the bars? Okay, they were only the guardrails above the cellar stairs— still, the eyeless eyes held something prisoner there.
Copyright 2021 Susan Kelly-DeWitt
Susan Kelly-DeWitt’s books include Gravitational Tug (Main Street Rag, 2020).