Marty Silverthorne

Black Angel and her on-time Jesus,
come early every morning, snuff
tucked in her jaw, praise fresh on her
tongue, her smile ivory sunshine when
she comes in early to work up a healing
lather over broken bones. Black Angel
brushes teeth to shine like Bible silver.
Soap covers scarred arms she inherited
from husbands who believed bruising was love.
Weather will not stop Black Angel
from coming in early, prayers on her tongue,
hymns singing in her dark eyes.
She measures medicine to ease my cripple pain;
says God is Good with conviction,
works up a sermon in her second lather.