Brigits Flame Week 2
Demons
I can still remember being six,
my mother sitting cross-legged on the couch,
a glass of lemon iced tea in one hand-
her bible open on her lap. “Demons,”
she said, “and angels are fighting.
Above us,
below us,
between us,
about us.”
And I, with my braids tangled
in my mass of plastic pink barrettes,
imagined that battlefield strewn
with ethereal
corpses. And wondered if somewhere
in hell, hewn in granite,
there was a statue as big as the earth,
always lit with a soft glow,
dedicated to the one responsible
for that most holy war.