dinner guest

DINNER GUEST

i sat across from a woman at dinner last night
and when she opened her mouth
the angel of choice flew out
and streaked across the room
into a plate glass window
and fell stunned and bleeding to the floor.

she sat there picking feathers out of her teeth
as i rushed to the angel’s side.
i picked him up and settled him on the sill.
i asked if he was ok. he said,

i’m fine.
this happens.
sometimes, choices crash into invisible things.

i opened the window and he took off,
a little unsteady still.

back at the table
she was demolishing a chicken leg.

my god, i said, as i sat down.

eh, things fly out of people
all the time, she said.
get used to it. and as for god?
god is just an airport locker
where you leave stuff until you need
to come back to it.

after dinner, i walked home alone.
there were more stars than explanations
in the sky.

if there were ever angels in my mouth,
i have never tasted them.
if my choices have ever smacked
themselves unconscious
getting away from me
i have never heard them.
and if there’s a locker
out there with my hope in it,
i know i don’t have the key,

but if i ever become that nonchalant
about the miracles inside me,
may i starve until i can feel them
in my belly
again.