Passing Angel Housekeeping

By Charlotte Matthews

My daughter calls as she walks
the dark winter streets to her
twelve–hour shift in the ER,
and I can hear the swish
of passing cars, the clicking
of the crosswalk light. Soon she’ll be
in triage or trauma or peds,
but for these few minutes she’s all mine
again, telling me more about Angel
who mops and disinfects the floors,
wipes down the walls after she
empties a room, telling me he is
at this moment on the other side
of the street, a shadow in circles
of lamplight. We’ve made up a life
for him, apartment on Grove Street
with pepper plants thriving
on the balcony, soccer on the TV,
English lessons from his kids,
church on Sundays. But none
of this we can ever really know.
In a few minutes Angel will guide
his push broom with such care and
precision it’s clear he is rowing
the boat that will take patients
back home to safety once again.