She collects angels
the way others amass shoes,
or a child collects marbles
or unicorns, surrounding herself
with their mythical grace
like a plush mink coat.
Filled to its beams
with a thousand wings
her bedroom crouches, ready
to rise from its floorboards
to the grand foyer of her Lord.
She's been praying
for that moment for some time.
She has some questions for him.
Lori Boulard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/heaven-and-the-working-class/
