A Task Assignment for the Guardian Angels at the request of Fr. Matthew Kelty:
For the Food Angel — at my last meal on earh...
~ no square fish without bones - a fish please, with tail and head and an eye that looks dead.
~ no round flat salmon or a frozen uniform - cut with breadcrumbs for scales.
~ potatoes with the skin, not flakes, pearls, or powder watered and stirred, from a bag, box, can.
~ beets or carrots with tops, that grew under sunlight.
~ eggs cooked fresh out of a shell, not a wax carton or pre-cooked, folded and frozen in identical size.
~ lemonade made from a lemon not powder, or wine without the alcohol removed.
For the Mortuary Angel — let me be buried in my own body, not:
~ half of me bled down a sewer
~ the rest filled with a chemical, to make me look pink, un-dead, prepackaged and odorless
~ once washed, clothed, lay me in church amid mummer of psalms, not in a cooler with hours of chiller whine.
~ if needs be, incense of sacred air, not talcum and bath soap smoke.
~ be the burial Christian, where death is real not suspended, sanitized, Egyptian and pagan.
For the Angel of Passage:
~ Carry me away as a mango moon in shaggy clouds to the west.
Feast of Archangels
Resting in a motor chair at window
no longer tramping open fields, to wade
where wind rolled waves of light and shadow,
his boredom aches at lawns cut flat and low.
Resting in a motor chair at window,
he asks Archangels, might there be a poem
strong to banish every vicious mower,
to justify each graceful blade that grows?
grand enough to open up great visions
of grass returning tall from distant fields
to stand in ranks and colorful divisions
on lawns from all banality now healed?