What if Gabriel was melanin
What if Michael’s mahogany hands
Expelled the dragon?
What if cherubims and seraphims
Sing behind ebony wings?
They say all angels are white,
Bright, as stars tracked across midnight skies.
When I look around, I find my angels here.
They’re departed brothers damned as criminals,
Sisters slain like demons by the law.
They’re immortalized in chants and banners;
See excellence as resistance and survival.
In certain spaces I feel their presence rest:
Silent Bible study halls, chained-linked courts,
intersections between stoplights and lynched Jordans.
In the rhythm of the spirituals, A Love Supreme,
Nina’s ballads, Marvin’s soul, I hear them whisper:
We’ll meet you at the mountaintop.
Are they too dark to soar in glory?
Do they not deserve their place by the Son?