You can find these people with broken wings
who were once angels but flew too close to the ground
touched the earth with tips of their wings and became grounded.
You can find them in bars, sleeping on park benches, playing slot machines, praying to match.com, glued to their cell phones, and evenings on Facebook with the eerie glow of a computer screen.
You can find them doing missionary work to atone for their sins, singing in church choirs for forgiveness, and caring for those who don’t care.
You can find them on the dance floor for one more time, playing the fool for laughs, smiling through the tears, all hoping for another time when it mattered.
You will see them listening to the prophets, shamans, the silver tongue devil, psychobabilists, drug pushers, gurus, and ministers – all with band-aids to fix their broken wings.
They find comfort in the arms of strangers, moving broken wings to adjust positions.
They want their youth back, their breasts and penises to lift again, to get back the comfort of family life, the job that meant something, the children who said “I love you”, the lines to go away, and have that easy laugh.
They look for the angel of mercy who will wash the everyday dust from their souls, make it all better like grandma’s soft hugs and mother’s tears for you.
And they look around frantically trading wishes for hope when the light shines through a keyhole and there is no key, then slipping into resignation looking at hope as an illusion.
You can find them everywhere – quietly swallowing tears, sleeping on a park bench holding tightly to a brown paper bag only to miss the angels who come to rest on your left shoulder – if only you can be still, watch, and listen and slightly turn your head, they just may stay for a while.