by Liz Niven

Visitation       Galloway Scots

Yesterday, A seen an angel.
He came richt intae the kitchen

when A was makin the tea.
His wings reached the Artex ceilin

and they were that bricht
aw ma white goods

lookt wabbit, althou the fridge
clickt then hummed loudly

the wey it does when there is a
sudden chynge o temperature

or ye open a door.
A askt him whit he wis here fir

and he gied me a smile tae die fir.
A said A’d heard o a wumman

who’d been visitit by an angel wance.
Bit A wis sixty five year auld,

wi three grown up weans.
Sae A kent it it wisnae like that.

Time passed that fast.
Ye ken hou it does

when ye’re enjoyin yersel.
Later, when A wis hooverin,

A fun a fine white feather
curlt lik a foetus oan the

remote control fir the tv
A wisht A’d talkt tae him longer,

made him spell oot exactly
whit he wis here fir.

A seen:  I saw
wance:  once
wabbit:  tired, faded
weans:  children