November with Yeats #4

“…till the morning break
And the white hush end all but the loud beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet…”

My Mother’s Angels

While my father slept
angels came, and visited my mother.

Sometimes they shared
her tea and cakes,
sometimes they whispered secrets,
sometimes they sang their songs
of peace and love, while she
accompanied them, on the
old upright piano.

They left behind
a sweet narcissus scent,
and one long feather,
white and beautiful.

Years later, when she had
shrunk and shriveled to old age,
she’d lie there, in her wide
and lonely bed, gazing
at nothing, stroking it
whit paper fingers, and
remembering

their great wings, crushed
against the kitchen ceiling,
their pale feet, and their eyes
blazing like joyful stars.

 

 

This is for Jane Dougherty, who gave us the quote at the top as inspiration for day 4 of a month with Yeats.