An Angel with Forever Wings

An Angel with Forever Wings

It's not that I am fascinated by death, it's just that I'm intrigued by the monuments that we erect for the dead: tombs that lead to the underworld, a funnel with statues falling in, a young girl eternally sleeping in a rocking chair, angels pushing forward mid-air reminding me of superman...  

They all have this ethereal air around them, in particular those bathed by daylight. It goes without saying that they seem otherworldly, like a somber superhero, or one that has come to help but is under an oath of silence. Some statues beckon from their quiet place, while others seem to wait patiently. For what? For us to notice them?

The spirits of the statues may not be there anymore. Some have risen to our minds, above our heads in flight finding peace. Theirs is the quiet. Theirs is the eternity of glowing molecules, shifting in the light and alighting no where. Theirs is the life/death bend. One moment they sparkle, the next bending back to dust.

I think how I don't want to be buried in the ground, suffocating in dirt. Stones crack and break with age, so in the future loved ones might not find me there. Even more stifling is the thought of being locked up in a box forever–a box between other boxes.

I want to soar on the wind forevermore, or glide on the ocean like my grandparents. Free in death like (I hope) in life. People will remember me if they will. Maybe I will be forgotten. I'm not sure if I would be more "permanent" in the ground; I would just take longer to decompose.

I want to be an angel with forever wings...

Photo and text: Kristen Mastromarchi