M. Kaat Toy
The lichen-mottled angel came to life tonight. He was kneeling, hands in a
pyramid before his chest, in front of the statue of Mary; then, he stood up. His eyes
shimmered, shifting between this world and the next, or between being a believer and
one who cannot believe, one of the forgiven or one of the unwashed. Or maybe it was
just the medication surging like a current that made his eyes go bright then dim when I
asked if he was doing all right. He was doing all right, he said, and though I was sure
he wasn’t lying, I was sorry for all the damage the lichen had done.