the barnhouse gates to god’s farm open and the angel steps out into the light to welcome her from where she’s woken from her slumber. her eyes are star-glassy and fearful where her gaze catches on two great wings and an iron-ground halo, but the angel sits, eyes kind. i promise i’m just like you, baby. there is no one here to scare you, no one here with sweat-slick metal bullets and sharp tongue voices that put holes in you, spill your life out and call it mercy. no, i promise the only thing turning your sugar-downy coat sticky will be the honey you find dripping slow as snails down the trees — and it’s all for you.
and i know you were too small too early too gentle but you’re here, so why don’t i show you around? i’ll walk with you to somewhere in our kingdom where you can lie sun-drunk and quiet on broadleaf greens, where the dirt is warm and forgiving under your three strong legs and you are finally safe.
be not afraid — i will take care of you, now.