Angel in the Garden

Soon after my wife’s brother died,
I came home from work to find
a half-dozen large boxes
sitting unopened in the foyer;
she had purchased garden statuary,
online, in the deep, dark cold
of a winter’s night;
we opened them
as an in-house memorial,
until the first warm afternoon,
when they were placed
in the garden, with solar light
illumination, for the darkness;
over the years, they were carried
in and out, private spirits of hope,
with only one, the peacock, broken;
but the wings-spread angel
was always the center;
as evening descended,
the light came upon her,
and one could not but think
of what brought her here,
and of the affirmation;
bringing the angel in the house
for the winter, or re-placing her
each spring, a little ritual
with its edge of sadness;
remember, the force is in her wings;
really, in the thought of them
always rising at the moment
of illumination.