Angel or Demon?
—a haibun in winter
We exited the elevator at the medical center and suddenly, he was
upon us like a zone-tailed hawk. Don’t I know you? Where are you
from? I know you. Do you remember me? He never let up, his gold-
tooth smile as inviting as the shiny foil of a wedding invitation.
You don’t recognize me ‘cause I’ve been taking chemo, he said,
pulling out a driver’s license that pictured a full-faced male
of forty-years much different from the frail, gray-bearded,
man now asking for money. I need forty dollars for my co-pay.
I am to pick it up at the pharmacy at First and Third after my chemo
at 1:00. Could you help me? If you can’t, I get it, man. I understand.
I see my husband, reaching for his wallet. The skinny,
unkempt man with the golden smile extends his leathery hand
and bows, his ragged, faded-red scarf almost touching the ground.
Thank you. God bless.
As he springs toward the elevator, we turn to our car, certain—
well, ninety percent certain—we had been duped by the devil.
But what of that ten percent uncertainty, those what-if questions
dogging our psyches, wreaking havoc with our hearts. What if
we had just conversed with an angel, come face-to-face
with God?
In our winters, wisdom,
too, takes on gray skies.
Published Heart of Flesh Literary Magazine, 2024