The Angel on the Door Handle

I walked into a cafe on a Friday, in my finest shirt
The one without holes

I had come there to meet God, and the time was dictated by the glare of the midday sun against the window

I had received the call the day before, when I walked this very street
and saw a dove swing low,
and perch upon the handle of the door

It was by the purity of its feather, the surety of its graceful flight, that I knew it as an Angel
and knew I had been called to return here, as the sun struck the window, to meet with God
and to make my case

To affirm that I was a sinner, and to beg at his feet for penance

As I walked in the door, I was greeted with the earthy wave of a fine roast,
and the salud of a young barista, pretty as the springtime morning she had woke to

I turned my eyes; what shame to greet my maker with the stain of lust on my iris!

I sat in the corner table, for it was clean, and straightened my shirt,
my hair, and my posture
and awaited the blinding light,
The unyielding image of the Holy Father
To overtake me, and burn away my sight

I waited, knowing I was early
For God is never late
Yet I did not see him

I must have misread the sign of the Angel,
Arriving before the sun was high enough to glint upon the glass,
Or maybe too late

The barista washed a mug with quiet care; maybe it had been God's, sipped slow as he waited for his charge

I sat, hands crossed as if in prayer, and my shirt was already soiled with sweat, the sweat of the guilty

For I had come here to meet God, and been deemed unworthy

I glanced at my watch, and saw the date; it was Friday, and my head dropped low

It was Friday, and though I'd seen the bird just yesterday, I knew it couldn't be so
For on a Thursday, I work early and late
and could not have been on this street to see an Angel on the doorhandle

I surely dreamt it, and in fact, now recalled that I had woken in my bed after seeing the bird fly away

This meeting was a farce; of course I had not been summoned

The Most High, drinking coffee with a worm. Of course I had dreamt it.

I stood, my shirt moist against my arms, and turned to the door

Turned to meet deep eyes, eyes shining black as a carapace, by which the light of all things are absorbed

"Hello, I see you have no coffee. Speak to the barista; it's my treat."

Stunned I was; to stand before the Lord, naked before the figure of a neat black sweater, short cropped hair, and a watch with no face.

My soul shook as I placed my order, and gave my earthly name, and saw it written on the cup as it is written in the ledger

I returned, and God waved his hand to a table against the window, still dirty from the last customer

"Let's sit here; there's more light from the window. I'm afraid I must be brief, for I have another to meet, and then another, on and on for the rest of time."

I sat, my shirt now a dishrag, and avoided the eyes that absorb the world.

"Father, you have called me and I have come. I am your servant, but also your shame, and I accept judgement from you and only you."

And then, not the roaring of trumpets, but the song of laughter, from same mouth that spoke the Word at the beginning of time.

"But no! You have called me! Have you called me here to tell lies, to hang your head and strain a neck so carefully designed to raise it?"

I began to speak, but faltered, then spoke again.

"Lord, I have made a mistake. I thought I'd seen an Angel, thought I'd seen it yesterday, that called me here to receive your Word."

A nod,

"Yes, you had seen it yesterday. You had sent yourself a bird, made an Angel as I have made you, and set this appointment, to give me your Word."

"But Lord, I thought it to be a dream!"

"Yes, it was yesterday, and it was a dream, as all your yesterdays have been. Tomorrow, too, will come in a dream, and you will dream until I wake you, but I will grant you ample rest. All minds must sleep, and dream, to wake with understanding. Now, what is your Word?"

I thought, and thought, then ceased to think, and responded.

"I will dream, and I will make Angels, and I will make worlds upon Creation. When I have had my sleep, I will wake, and begin the day."

The Lord smiled before me, tucked dollars into my hand, and touched my arm.

"Well that's great, I look forward to meeting your Angels. I'll wake you in the morning, and we will greet them together, and take them with us as we walk through your worlds."

And with that, my Lord turned and walked out the door, turning around to admire the glint upon the glass.

The barista brought me my coffee, and I paid her, and we shared the smile of dreamers.