Once the angel had gone, Mary was quite alone.
The room's air kept a bright odor of heaven, and
Rising to stand upon the sparse carpet in the sparse room,
She asked the angel to return.
Return it did, but as memory he was a weak thing,
Pale and faded.
He could not speak new tidings.
He could only repeat what was already proclaimed.
In her new but young knowing she knew,
Twisted and bound like curling serpents
The new life within her and the great loss of herself.
The color of azure, the texture of her cloak,
Were forever changed, And
Her mother's voice, calling from an inner room,
Knelled the loss of innocence.

James Bolner, Sr.
Bodoc, Avoyelles Parish
April, 2001