Angels or Angles
By Niall Twohig
Sitting at the coffee shop, from the corner of my eye, I saw her: an older Filipino woman sitting at ease. Her gaze was on us, I saw, and she was admiring you. I was not in a mood to talk or nod hello, so I kept my gaze on you as you climbed and twisted. When I finally turned, the woman broke apart into brick, sunlight, shadow. I was reminded of our hedge where, from a certain angle at an appointed time, the Green Man’s face appears. I thought of the stucco walls of my childhood home where I saw moaning faces. I thought little of this appearance until I talked to your mama. She’d been praying to her mama, your Lola Linda, for protection and a sign she was near. I leave it up to you, dear Aislynn, to take this as a trick of angles, a sign of angels, or something in between.