Little Cherubs

Great Aunt Marie’s house hosted a flock of angelic porcelain babies. Suspended from the ceiling, they gazed into the distance with blank devotion, their lips parted rapturously.

I plucked a string hanging over the kitchen table. Its baby spun woozily and smacked into a cabinet. “Stop,” Dad said. “Look what you’ve done.” The angel had chipped its wing. It now hung off-kilter, arm tangled. I knelt so I could see what it had been looking at. In the bedroom, a life-sized statue of the Madonna goggled up at the stained ceiling.

“That,” Mom announced, “is the first thing that’s going.”

Anna Call is a librarian and critic living in Salem, Massachusetts. She writes regularly for The Big Brown Chair (www.thebigbrownchair.com) and Isotropic Fiction (www.isotropicfiction.com).

One Response to “Little Cherubs”

  1. it story is like muna madan .

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