He has no problem
believing angels
travel the highway
between Providence and heaven.
The pastor told him
and the man never lies.
Besides, what are the stars for
if not to light the way?
He’s the perfect child,
his mother says.
Not that good at schoolwork
but he sings in the choir.
And does his chores
even if he can’t multiply
and divide so well.
He obeys the rules
governing TV time
without complaint.
An angelic kid,
below average intellect…
she’d take the tradeoff
any time.
Of course,
she worries
what will happen
once she’s gone.
His father died early.
And her own family history
favors short lives.
Maybe he could join the church.
His speech is spotty
but his perspective
wouldn’t be out of place
in a Quattrocento painting.
He’ll never be rich.
But no reason he shouldn’t be holy.
He’s chubby.
Like a Fra Lippo Lippi cherub,
she figures.
And he’s bullied at school.
But so were the disciples.
And slow…
in gait, in thought,
in just about everything.
So his time on earth
could be a waste.
But there’s always that ladder,
and an angel,
possibly Gabriel himself.
And so what if he can’t
tie his shoelaces.
He can go barefoot.
The rungs are soft.
They’re clouds mostly.
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