Anthropocene Angel

Subsists on call-ins to local AM radio shows
Midnight requests for niche picks meant only for that one lonely listener 
It delights in traveling along radio waves 
Switching stations from gospel to country to metal to NPR
All in an attempt to discover the ways that humans have remained holy 
Not necessarily through prayer, but joy 

It finds God in the lichen growing on the underside of a felled tree
Little moments of beauty and cruelty that excite its angelic tendencies 
Flitting about from ponds to poplar trees 
There is something comforting in cycles of growth to this divine weapon 
It prods at a pillbug and watches the insect curl into itself 
Then to the desert, where a kettle of vultures rend an animal’s flesh
This is communion, the cannibalization of Christ becomes 
The necessitous ritual of carnivorous consumption 
It stills, watching this moment of daily meal attentively 
Then it is time to leave, to work on its list of wonders 

This holy messenger was sent down sometime in the 19th century 
Found forms of piety all over 
As well as the senseless violence of hatred and bigotry 
These ideas created a war within the sanctified spirit
It reached out, crying for help
And in that moment knew that God had forgotten it 
So busy with bigger plans, secret schemes only He could know of, 
That the thought of an errant angel sent down to catalog something 
Smaller, less grand, had completely slipped His mind 

This realization came in the 20th century 
The angel discovered the joys of alcohol 
And different mind-altering substances 
At this time, it spent many hours dancing in clubs till two in the morning 
Then walking to a local park, shoes in hand, 
To stare at the trees made gold in the street lamp's light 
It was then that they saw it, or rather felt it 
Currents of change made real in protests and marches, riots and rallies 
People would show up to the discotheques 
It frequented with posters they would plaster everywhere 
The angel, knowing every language, would read them all 
Sometimes it would show up to these events, clash with cops, 
Pour milk in eyes coated with tear gas, 
Head tilted back, it becomes a baptism  

Sometimes it confuses an errant plane or satellite for its kin 
A fellow divine being brought down to Earth's stratosphere 
It collides happily with these mechanical constructs 
Which manifests in the form of turbulence, a shudder of machinery 
Then the disappointment comes, sudden realization 
And it swoops back down to earth 

After that it will find some little local creek 
See a small child kneeling down before the reeds 
Wiggling their fingers in the water, sending the small tadpoles 
That live there swimming and wriggling quickly away
The child leans forward, whispering words of encouragement 
And messages of good luck to the water dwellers, future frogs 

In that moment, the anthropocene angel hums and the lights flicker
The child looks up, back towards home, 
Beyond the fence and past the yard where their mother is waiting 
The angel observes this scene only for a moment, and then it is gone  
Gliding away to continue cataloging these moments of goodness  
To find reasons to keep going