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The angel stands, not in the water
of the flowing pool, where the four cherubs
frolic, but on a lonely slab of cracked cement.
And surely, as she reaches outward
toward an unreachable lamppost—

where joe-pye weeds line the garden wall,
and it is always moist, especially in summer—
the daisies flutter at her with their ostrich-eyes.
A part of her hair has eroded away.  A part of her
right hand is broken, and the grass nearby

is as green as the Emerald Isle.  In September,
the coneflowers accent the white garden gate.
The wind chases certain oak leaves through
deepening shadows, through expedient
patches of navy blue shade.

But the wind blows most of the leaves away,
and sometimes, after the rain, the sun casts
elongated rainbows on the sculpted path,
perhaps even, on the chestnut orb of a pumpkin,
or on the gourd that sits near the angel’s cooling toes.

Once cuddled by ivy, the statue stands forgotten,
up to her knees in the drifts of a late winter snow.
Icy cherubs gaze toward the stars.  Then crocus
appear, and daffodils emerge from the melt,
their yellows as soft as a neonate.

The sun seems still innocuous, when Flowering
Cherry-petals become springtime confetti.
The angel wears, on her cheek, tiny droplets of rain,
a smudge of petal-pink for blush.
She’s been crying but pretending she wasn’t.

first published In Mastodon Dentist

“From the cowardice that shrinks from new truth,

From the laziness that is content with half-truths,

From the arrogance that thinks it knows all truth,

O God of Truth, deliver us.”

                                                    —Leslie Weatherhead


Hat Tip: Richard Groves


Richard Groves is the pastor of Wake Forest Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, NC. He once said reminded me that the truth does not lie somewhere between two extremes. The truth is wherever you find it. Dr. Groves continues to inspire me.


February 2007
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