Report to Marianne

Mark J. Mitchell

Are the roads above the earth

Passable at present?

—Marianne van Hirtun

The news is bad—when angels left

they blocked them all by dropping wings.

Some have looked for old paths around.

No one’s seen them since. There’s a song

full of sad news—angels have left.

No one remembers how to sing.

There’s talk of a ladder or stairs,

mostly bluster—quite empty

of hope. None of us want to work—

not that hard. We scuff at loose dirt

and talk. We drop ladders and stare

at ground. Maybe plant trees. Maybe.

So no—roads are too blocked to pass.

One angel dropped a note. No map, though.

We’re stranded helpless as weapons

without eyes. Looking for freedom

on roads that are blocked by our past.

Clouds slide by. They know where to go.