If I were an angel,
I wonder,
would I look down
and shake my head at her?
Would I cross my arms
and roll my eyes in disbelief
at her youngest mistake,
knowing that one such misstep
would have sent me tumbling
down from the golden streets?

Or maybe I'd shield my eyes
with the tips of my wings,
sheltering myself in myself,
wishing I could wrap them around her.
Sometimes she shivers and I wish
I were an angel for that reason,
because my own hands do so little