She smelled of vanilla and lilac
and though she was near death’s door
her smile lit up the room
and her voice whispered of past pleasures.
And even though I sat across the room,
I could feel her presence fill the space,
time stood still for all to look at her
as she stood there in a hospital gown.
Blood dripped from the bandage
wrapped around her forearm,
and tubes still ran to her nose.
When she stumbled to take a step
I walked over to steady her, to hold her up,
to give her the strength that time had taken
and I found her soft to the touch, though her spirit
called out to me in a way that made me weak.
I knew in that moment that she was more,
more than I could ever be and she was here
so that we could all know her before she died.
This place had been chosen so that she would not fade
in a hospital room, hooked to machines and bags of fluid.
She wanted to live for just a singular moments again,
before her life was at its end and what she was
became simply a memory.
She lived in that moment, when she walked in
and stopped hearts, and turned heads
and as her blood fell to the floor,
hearts opened up to her,
she welcomed them,
giving hers in return,
so that even though we could not see her wings,
we all knew an angel had died
when she fell to the floor
with a sigh.
Death of an Angel
