waiting on an angel - by ben harper

Waiting on an angel.
One to carry me home.
Hope you come to see me soon,
cause I don't want to go alone,
I don't want to go alone.
Now angel won't you come by me.
Angel hear my plea.
Take my hand, lift me up so that I can fly with thee,
so that I can fly with thee.

And I'm waiting on an angel.
And I know it won't be long to find myself a resting place in my angel's arms,
in my angel's arms.
So speak kind to a stranger, cause you'll never know,
it just might be an angel come,
Oh- knockin' at your door,
Oh- knockin' at your door.
And I'm waiting on an angel.
And I know it won't be long to find myself a resting place in my angel's arms,
Oh- in my angel's arms.
Waiting on an angel.
One to carry me home.
Hope you come to see me soon, cause I don't want to go alone,
I don't want to go alone, don't want to go, I don't want to go alone.

home.

bits of life
and literature
and moments and you
clutter my mind
making my heart dizzy —
tying my throat in knots

the kind of knots that sink,
moving from my where they are born
to the pit of the stomach
where they linger too long

and then there are words
that stick to my soul
like leaves caught in the shimmer of a freshly tarred roof

— and i imagine if leaves could feel pain
they might wince first
but then,
their frame would grow used to being covered
in the thick black coating
until, one day, it would be all they knew — and without breath,
they’d remain

complacent
content
afraid they’d lose part of their delicate leafiness
if they tried to pull away

but when finally they opened their eyes
and looked — really looked

at the trees’ empty branches
and at their red and burnt orange family
blowing
setting yards on hot pink fire
with piles that dazzle
laughing children
and joggers
and the delicate hand of that watercolor artist

they’d long to return home.

shrinking

sometimes i wish
i could make a miniature, sweeter version
of myself
sort of like a mandarin orange —
easier to handle
and to digest
cuter
smaller
lighter —
but still juicy enough
to satisfy
even the most ravished craving

space

closets
full of clothes
and sweaters
shoes
coats
and that one really cute handbag
need to be emptied,
boxed
moved to storage
or to a place where they've never been before

and they likely won't recognize it -
this place -
because it's smaller
and taller
and it's not quite home


yet

it's foreign
with no backyard
or front stoop
or best friend neighbors

it doesn't have gas burners
patio furniture
a purple couch
a crazy-eyed dog
or someone to come home to

no one knocks on its door
or comes by to visit
most don't even know
where i've gone

but i'm there
and some days
it hurts
to breathe in this space
that i don't quite know
what to do with

truth

in darkness, a light shines.

the glass house project (entry 10)

entry no. 10 (hello.)

this heat
is stifling.
it’s death and mourning
and this constant sticky feeling
is beginning to weigh me down —
tying me to things like
doubt
and fear
and pain
and wondering why i don’t feel like other people
or why you’ve never spoken to me —

see, i know you can.
so maybe the problem is that
i just don’t know how to listen.
but, I’m thinking about you more
like before fish tacos
and in the car on the way to the gym
and when I’m falling asleep
and in the shower

can you hear me?
because i’m trying to talk to you
and i want to feel you pursue me again —
you and your unending love
and grace
and the perfection
of your plan
that i sometimes
want to rewrite
because i’m selfish
and think i know the best way to do this thing
that starts every day
with the simple act
of breathing.

the glass house project. (entry 9)

entry no. 9 (careful)


this beating
inside my chest
is unfamiliar
it's foreign -
like paris in the fall.
and it's growing,
this rhythm.

it's forte
and staccato
and 16th notes -
it's a symphony, really.

and at night, it sings me to sleep
with melody and harmony and all the mastery
of Beethoven and Chopin
and delicate hands that know just the right way
to tickle ivory.

hands that reach past an octave
into runs and runs of chords
and scales
and an occasional rendition of 'chop sticks.'
to which my heart sings the baritone
and then speeds to the first soprano
airy, light - fast

and i don't want
to slow it down

the glass house project. (entry 8)

entry no. 8 ( beach house )


i don't remember why
i was so attracted to beach house when there were so many other options
that were more sophisticated
and subtle
and dark
so dark, it would have hidden
gus prints
and spilled coffee
and blood from the softball injury
that stayed on your shin for weeks.
but instead, i went with beach house
and that white background
got dingy fast -
and the red floral fitted sheet
only stayed that red through one wash.
and don't you remember the flat sheet with its ruffled blue and white.
the ruffle ripped off
before even gus was around
to practice sleeping through the night
in bed with the big people.

the glass house project (entry no. 7)

entry no. 7 (in the middle.)

i have an inner ear infection.
i've been dizzy all week.
at least now there is a reason
for bad poetry
and sideways tendencies.

the glass house project (entry 6)

entry no. 6 (so, sue me)

i missed a day
i suck at my own assignment
failure
with a large letter "F"
sipping sparkling mineral water
at my desk
looking at blue
green
yellow
vases full of
fake flowers.
maybe one day
real ones will inhabit
the space
yet to be filled with life-giving
water
next to the pink lamp
with the flower on the shade.

the glass house project. (entry 5)

entry no. 5 (f this day)

bed sores
might be in my future
because sickness won't leave
it just builds
and builds
and builds
until all i want to do
is fly away
to mexico
or new york
or to somewhere void of my bed and its grandma-style sheets
because sometimes, being sick blows.

the glass house project. (entry 4)

Entry 4 (numb.)

my day is full of dizzy
tingly
strange
sensations
and all i want to do
is sleep it off

the glass house project. entry 3

entry no. 3 (untitled.)


i ate a sandwich
and it made me feel
full
but still hungry
satisfied
but longing

i chewed gum
to get rid of the sandwich taste
filling my mouth and coating my tongue
that i wish had been delighted with something else

like pesto
or mongolian barbecue
or sushi
or anything other than a sandwich, really

because, i'm getting sick of the sandwiches
that life keeps
serving me
on pretty plates
with floral patterns
trying to mask
just how unoriginal
the slices of bread filled with
meat
and cheese
and sometimes soggy lettuce
really are