Angel and Anathema What is it about her? I’m not quite sure. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, her smile? Her gorgeous looks? The way she acts her age? Or in general? All of our same interests? The way no other woman could imitate her attributes? She is a miracle, an angel amongst legions of wolves and cows. She could have anyone, yet . . . to think she was with me! I salivate at the thought. Others cringe, an absurd idea. I am a mere mortal and she is a glorious creature. I am nothing more than a platypus in this angel’s presence. Funny-looking, awkward, no where near perfect, but doing my best to equal her. This is my curse, a need to show my love, but nothing is good enough. I miss her so, and I would do anything … gifts, pets, possessions, murder. I change my name for her. I am no longer odd waterfowl. I am anathema, cursed one, nothing more than a tool or key to her happiness. Her misguided views cause her to think that I am the angel. She is anathema … howling at a concrete moon. Yin and yang, land and sea, Form and Substance, we complete each other. January 23 2007 Nosnevets #poem