Angel at the Crossroads
Angel of mercy, angel of death, watch over this your child. She’s lonely, the little angel half buried in red dirt under the wooden cross at the crossroads, lonely and sad, staring down my lonesome highway, the road I travel every night in my head, in my heart, forty straight miles of nothingness but scrub pines and strip mines, nothing to hold on to, nothing to settle the thoughts racing through my head. Little girl, who left you out here? Who killed you? Angel of mercy, have mercy, watch over your child.
La te da te da. Listen to you, whining again, over that plaster of Paris angel. Forget it, sister. Nobody cares.
Someone built you a shrine by the road, draped it with orange flowers so you’d be seen. So you’d be seen.
Big deal, praying lady. Plastic leis, day-glo orange. Hawaii come to the boonies. Halloween colors. Trick or treat. Who’s the trickster, Pious Patsy? The big spender from Big Lots? Who do you know who shops at Big Lots?
Who gave you eyes, blue eyes, so you could see? Somebody cares for you.
Is that what’s got your butt in a rut? That no one cares for you? That nobody’s gonna build a shrine for you? Well, face it, doll. You’ve never had anybody. Ever. Even your childhood friends were imaginary, but you don’t remember, do you? You don’t know what you don’t know. Your sweet someone hot-glued those glass beads too close together, made a cross-eyed angel. Was she cross-eyed when she died? Was she? Was she? What did she see? Did something go bump in the night? Do you even know which night?
Someone built a cross, but it doesn’t bear your name. Do you have a name, little girl? Who left you out here nameless? Who killed you?
Somebody, huh? Would it make you happier if you knew her name? Make up a name. Call her Lolita. Lolita from the hot sheet motel back up the road. Maybe she was screwing Humbert.
Your fists are clenched, little girl. Are you angry? Oh, holy Mother of God, forgive.
Fists clenched? Or counting out one potato, two? Next time it’s you. Ha, ha, ha.
St. Christopher, you protect travelers, watch over this thy child. She couldn’t see. Someone gave her eyes, turquoise eyes so bright I stopped to see, retraced midnight steps to look into her eyes. But she looked back and looked deep into my empty soul. What did she see of me, what does she know of me, even that I don’t know? Oh, sweet angel, forgive. She couldn’t see. I couldn’t see. I felt something, a little something, not enough to stop. But I did stop, Holy Mother. I slowed to a stop and got out of the car but I couldn’t see. There was nothing, just me all alone, so alone, filled with the sour taste of fear. I ran, stumbling, back to my car and drove away. Oh, Mother of God, was it me? I couldn’t see her, Holy Mother. Angel of mercy, forgive me, have mercy, have mercy.
She spins in your head and I lie awake at night. Let it go, for God’s sake, she’s plaster, she’s dead, some little waif ambling down an empty highway at midnight in fog soup. Nobody knows, nobody asked, NO BODY.