the Little Angel

My summer job came and went.

Cleaning the house, making dinner, driving the little angels around.

After their swim practice, I’d pick up the chlorine filled specimen.

Her name was Ambriel, the quiet and timid one.

Always spoke when spoken too, never out of line.

But I’d sit outside the door and wait.

The low hum of the shower clouded my brain.

Steam crept from underneath the door,

Escaping for only a second and then evaporating into the air.

A soft angelic voice whispered over the hot water.

My body sank into the wooden stool against the wall.

Closing my eyes, the sweet voice glided through my ears-- into my brain.

How could something so beautiful be hidden from the world?

The voice became louder and louder, growing with confidence.

My eyes moved back and forth beneath the lids,

Imagining the complex melodic sequence she followed.

The mother glided through her bedroom door,

Slightly turning an ear toward the shower but only to wince.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was just... waiting.” 

“Get back to work, we don’t pay you to just sit there.”

And with that she was gone, without even the slightest farewell.

I sat back down on the stool. 

The only sound that escaped the cracks was the protective hum of the shower.

Not the singing from the angel above.

With a sigh of confusion, I went back to stirring the boiling pasta--

For mama’s little angels.