All My Friends Are Angels / by grace mcgrade


They couldn’t tell the angels they were angels when they left them here. Those were the rules.

Instead, they left clues. Clues obtained in moments of love- because those were the most angelic resonances. The resonances of remembering.

Moments of love were easy to hide clues in, because there was an air of invisibility, you couldn’t see it or smell or touch it, but you knew it was there. Sometimes the clues were like computer codes, in the eyes of another, or in a long sensual embraces. Some were even written in the sky, in crayola sunsets with clouds like pink cadillacs and lilac wishes.

Sometimes there were clues in the words of friends, who could see you better than you could see yourself.

Some angels smoke parliaments and only wear leather, light up at the sight of puppies and are overconcerned with the well being of stray cats. They have skin like alabaster and silver, and jade eyes that speak of the sympathy of the forest. Some think in pairs of people and only came here to love. They have all the jokes and smell like diptyque candles.

Some angels are made of old hollywood movies and cowboy boots. Watching them is like watching a black and white movies, they move like chorales of ghosts and dance on sidewalks. They cackle like candles cracking, and shed salt water tears in your forest bed. They are fearless. When they smile the room smiles with them, and your heart expands fifteen inches further. These angels are seekers, and ask all the right questions. If you are super lucky, these angels will live next door.

Some angels collect dogs and johnathon adler ash trays. These are the wisest of all the angels, and can parachute their consciousness out to fill homes and offices and entire cities. They channel elaborate french cooking and see the highest future versions of people, even when they can’t see it themselves. They save lives many times over. These types come from the sea but understand desert gardens, they are cosmic libraries and curators of perfect moments. They give out of themselves and sometimes have blue hair. They are sparkle fairy princesses dressed in black cashmere.

Some angels are elven tattoo clad boys, who assure you of your powers in the darkest hours. These are rare- and you have to hold on to them- because at any moment they might shoot back to space. They drive white mazdas and set doves free. They will take you on journeys above time and make the best camping partners. They are cosmic inventors and dream actualizers, architects of alien intel and visionaries.

Some angels have as many freckles as stars, and wear back braces. These are the oldest angels but come disguised as teenage girls. They complain about being taller than most boys, but old angels need tall bodies. They wear converse and pajamas, and you can’t really take them to restaurants because they knock things over, put silverware in the tea candles, and scribble alien symbols on the tablecloths- because they are half here and half in the astral, mending broken hearts. They feel everything in every room, and glow at a slightly inhuman frequency, even when making silly faces. These ones are wickedly beautiful, and equally unaware- but thank goddess for that, for their souls manage to seep out and overflow, blind to the subtleties of it’s immaculate container.

Your very best days will start and end with these angels.