when angels visit

it is usually when
i come home
walk through the door
of birthdays and
christmas mornings
late at night
when for no reason
i wake up
heat beating too fast
to catch the brief
smell of cigarettes
partially covered by
the scent of yr
red door perfume

the sound of wind
that rattles shutters
in the attic
that one spot
that squeaks
by the fridge
when the cat
walks across
worn linoleum
it is when
the furnace kicks on
i hear you call
and feel
the patchwork warmth
that tucks me in
one more time

to make sense of this
i doze back off
you were
just checking up

10 Responses to when angels visit

  1. jo says:

    Oh, this one made me tear up. I know just what you’re talking about, but you put it so well. Lovely.

  2. Julie says:

    Beautiful and sweet. You have left me speechless, because I love it.

  3. Holly Dunlap says:

    awww…is all I know to really say…aww…lovely

  4. Pris says:

    Wonderful poem, Scott.

  5. paisley says:

    if being checked on as you sleep isn’t love… what is….

  6. dana says:

    You handle this tender material skillfully. Very nicely done. In lesser hands it might come off as sappy. Here, it is very well-rendered, well-executed. I wish I could write poems like this, ones that get at something brutality and fragility. Although this gets at fragility, too, in a different way than I ever could.

  7. ybonesy says:

    Ditto what jo said. I know that moment. Thank you for bringing it back to me.

  8. nathan1313 says:

    Well done, honest and spare.

  9. nectarfizz says:

    Thoughts that intertwine lovely.

  10. maurie says:

    Ditto paisley.(nice piece.)**

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