Author’s note- I’ve seen angel misspelled too many times.

A Different Angle

Flutters softly to the ground.

I pick it up. It’s pretty and soft- not a dandelion but I’ll wish on it anyway and press my lips too it-

-breathe-

A cloud, my sister say and she takes it faster than my eyes can see. Her hands and the notadandilion are gone. I almost want it back but I turn away and dig my toe into the dirt.

A piece of heaven, she says tauntingly, mine my piece of heaven.

No.

But she doesn’t listen. It doesn’t matter. There’s more where it came from.

The sky is feathery now and the clouds are not like the notadandilion. So it can’t be a piece of heaven because heaven is clouds. That’s what they tell me everyday without saying anything.

That’s what heaven is that’s what it is- not a notadandilion

I wonder though. Maybe I want heaven to be something else. Maybe I want it to be the perspiration on the side of a sprite can or a gumball machine prize or a strawberry or a hole punch. Heaven is supposed to be more wonderful than you can imagine but I want to try anyway. Everyone else has and they all say it is clouds

Heaven is sposed to be wonderful and everything you want will be there.

I want heaven to be a poem. I wanna walk in the lines that make up the words that are just words with maybe meaning but not enough. I wanna touch the black ink as its still drying and find something in it that the poet didn’t see

They do that anyway don’t they?

Heaven should be when you need to pop your toes. It’s a nice feeling because you can when you want to. Or Friday. Heaven should be Friday because if it was Saturday it wouldn’t be the same. Friday is nice because it isn’t ande Saturday is and what’s the point of that?

Sister’s dropped the notadandilion ‘cuz she’s bored with it. I knew she would be. I pick it up because it shouldn’t have to lay forlorn on the ground like a Ziploc bag or an isolated glove like Micheal Jackson

And one drop of rain meant for my notadandilion falls from the sky and onto it. Or maybe it was my eye

Away the fuzz washes and it’s really a fallen Angle.

Geometry is everywhere