Angel in a Saloon

     An angel that knew me when I was twelve graced my city this week. She fluttered about her long, linen-like wings and blew kisses over the heads of every person out walking. I got a free mattress from a historically beautiful woman who makes stained glass art and has renaissance moles on her face. We folded the thing into a taco and shoved it in my trunk. No one wanted to drive behind me. 

    In the saloon, one sweaty and warm night, we danced crazy in cowgirl boots to the punky country music. An old hick found me later, smacking his gruff hand against the back of my shoulder saying, "I wish you'd lend me sum that energy, girl!" The linen-winged angel laughed, two beers deep. 

    I've been thinking about how painful it can be to love somebody so much. It's the curse of the earnestly tender and if you're reading this, I hope you and this ache are well affiliated. I wonder if I will die young. I keep telling myself that I've made it this far. I'm sure I can keep this thing rolling. Sleeping for less than five hours is bad math and I'm learning not to do this. I've been thinking a lot because I can smell fall. There's so many warning signs. 

    For the first time in my life, I have an ear infection and it's reminding me of the fact that I can still experience new things. I was sad at the clinic when the doctor pulled up the anatomy of an ear and basically laid it on out that mine was fucked. That's having a body. I could combust at any moment but instead an angel is gracing my city this week. I'll put up with everything sounding like it is underwater for even a glimmer of that. Everyone is showering her in love and beaming because of her and there's so much to sing about. Sometimes there's too much.