Angel Work

My left shoulder aches as if I had wings once. I’m reaching towards heaven but my feet won’t lift off the ground. I’m searching for something to scurry up, a tower, the tallest ladder. When I was in high school, I climbed the cherry pickers, to hang lights on the ceiling of the gymnasium. I felt at home in the air. Grounded now, my dumb weight tripping over itself when I should be flying. When I was a child, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. An angel. I thought angels were jobs like cook or teacher. I wanted to be an errand-runner for God. As if God needed my help. I thought I could be a special protector of babies or roses. The best I can do is knit blankets or spend winters pruning the bushes. Keep my feet on the ground. That ache in my shoulder is just an ache. The earth needs sowing. Plenty of work for me here.