Words by Julia Kleser
If I twist my arm back at just the right angle, my shoulder blade sticks out from the rest of my body, enough for my thumb to fit comfortably beneath it. Though I know this discovery isn’t unique, it sure seems that way. For I reach back and I find not a human bone, but the joint of an angel wing. I think about Heaven and wonder.
Can angels get amnesia?
What if every time an angel is stripped of its wings and responsibilities beside the throne of God, it falls violently to earth, not yet condemned to Hell by God’s mercy alone? It would certainly fall hard enough to cause injury, so why not amnesia?
I imagine I am an angel, in this life, not a previous one. I think about what I must have done to deserve the loss of not one, but two limbs, staples to the definition of my very being, along with my dignity and position. Was it pride? Anger? Jealousy? How great was my disobedience; was it a single infraction or a lifetime’s worth of second chances?
Whatever the reason, I am here now, on Earth. There is no return to paradise, not for me at least. How would I ever find my way back? How would I overcome my imperfections? How would I fly without feathers?