by Angela Bilger

grows at an angle
from the earth     serpentine     moss
adorns its low bent

branches     as an aging woman
wears the jewelry
of her youth heaven

overtakes roofs
and hinges        salt-air eaten                 heaven
hears the abandoned words

in my mouth when I asked
If you were to die tonight where
would you go?      inside the empty silo

where I can sing with you      where
our voices spiral
heaven      contains my childhood backyard

where clothes are blown dry
animated              on the line
by a scorching wind


Originally from Jacksonville, Florida, ANGELA BILGER is a classical musician living in the Philadelphia area with her husband and two children. Her work has been published in Mid-American Review, Raleigh Review, The Christian Century, Letters Journal, the minnesota review, Dappled Things, and Rust+Moth.


Photo: “Creepy Tree” by Neal Wellons