“Not all angels are gold and light,” her mother often said.
“Some are dark and, oh, don’t forget–they commune with the dead.”
The little girl walked quietly, listening close and nodding her head.
The two walked through the graveyard gates to see that grandmother was fed.
“Now darling daughter, don’t be shy. There is no need for dread.”
And she pushed the girl and her basket full of whiskey, fruit, and bread.
The pair worked quickly, saying prayers, as they set out the celebratory spread.
The daughter wished a miracle for the grandmother in her underground bed.
They finished their work as the evening sky first turned orange then to red.
They told the old woman stories of their year and, yes, a few tears were shed.
“It’s time to go. Now don’t look back,” her mother always said.
“You’ll never rest if you see the angel who keeps the peace among the dead.”
The little girl looked back, of course. All the best girls do.
What happened next, dear reader? I leave that up to you.