Angel (She flew)

Her name was Grace
or maybe that was just what she was.
Grace with the golden hair.
And she flew.
Everything about her was motion and flight,
and joy and love
and she came to me,
just me, nobody else.
To talk to me,
to play with me,
To tell me what a good boy I was,
how strong and good and loved.
She came to tell me it wasn’t my fault.
I hadn’t done anything wrong,
and one day soon I would go home
and not come back here ever again.
Those people down there wouldn’t do this to me anymore.
She told me I would soon go to a place
where no bad people would come to me ever again.
A place with cows and horses and lots of space
for little boys to play all alone and be safe.
And she flew and I think that she took me there
to see the cows and horses and stuff.
I remember looking down on them
from the night high above.
I maybe imagined that
when she told me all about the grass
and the fields and the animals and all the fun things to do,
in my new place, after the bad place I’d been.
And she flew, all the time,
but she made me feel all still and quiet and happy deep inside
not just on the outside.
She was Grace
and she was woman and mother
and I closed my eyes and melted in her arms
I hugged her and she felt like silk
and smelled like my mom
and she was all round and soft and solid
and I loved her, and maybe she never really went away,
‘cause I don’t remember missing her.
And now, when that wonderful stillness comes on me
I wonder if its her, telling me I’m OK.
That I’m still a good boy, strong and good.
And loved.
And it wasn’t my fault.