The True Story

His polished apple green eyes shone beneath his hat brim

The color of a clear blue sky.

A white shirt covered his chest up to his chin. Queued in line that day

And to tell you now the truth of what I found

While I stood impatient and late

In a restaurant now burned to the ground.

Instead of the usual hello or how you’s

I heard the voices of my ancestors all in harmony

In his message undisguised, I heeded the lifelong call.

From the back he He smiled at me and said, “you’re blessed.”

And then he turned around

Where he looked from the front back to me

And he said these words without speaking.

He looked at me and I thought I’ve seen him

Some familiar faces come calling

Some voices the echoes of all time

And I never saw him again in a crowd

Or alone in my dreams at night.

He stood ahead of me and whispered as

He smiled at me, “you’re blessed.”

“Keep talking and writing. Never come to an end. We are watching over you, we hear your every breath.”

“We know you and you’re blessed by god,”

And I said thank you after he said god blessed you to me

And I repeated his last few words.

“Next!” cried out the counter man

Startling my mind from a state

I felt neither here nor now

He ordered a sweet tea and paid

Then took number 81 and he moved left to wait to be called.

I nod to him he nodded as well, he’d already done his calling.

Ordering now paying for my number 82, racing to wash my hands and back

Yet no time had elapsed: when I returned he was gone.

The man behind the counter called out, “81!”

A family of five all hurried to take their grease stained brown bags.

And I looked for him

A sky blue man

But my memory’s all I own.

His skin was the color of every race

His face was ageless and clean

His clothing impeccable

No creases or wrinkles

In his body or his clothes

His hat sat atop his presence

Like a halo or something above his flawless essence.

He may as well have been carved into marble

By the hand that moves the stars

And he disappeared into the sunlight

Before I could ask what right I have

Why me and not someone else?

I felt undeserving of this day

The Beginning my lifelong gift

To lose every fear I’d known of

The pain of my terminal illness

But the ache in my heart vanished

Along with the smile I saw on his face

He brightly shone

Like the mid day sun

And no one heard his name.

When an angel speaks

A message

To you and you alone

Listen and let doubt melt from Your mind

If someone helps carry you home.

Don’t laugh in the face of the messenger

In a moment I understood

That life on multiple dimensions

Can be known but can’t be seen

And god steps with us in the path we take

Be kind and be loved and give what you know

To the world and receive every dream.

The day will come before we leave

The ones in our lives bereft.

No one is spared who’s born

Of pain or of illness or death

From the moment our minds open

Our eyes begin to close again.

Never waste a messengers gifts

Doubting only brings us to our knees

Not bent in prayer or meditation

But in the to the heartache of our own empty grave.

4 thoughts on “The True Story

    1. Thank you for your feedback and such a high compliment. I’m grateful to you for this, as I write in hopes I touch someone’s heart it’s good to know I have.

  1. This post evoked both tears and shivers from me, Ilene. I hope you continue to feel the presence of Mr 81–the “sky blue man” whose “skin was the color of every race” (wonderful phrasing) and call upon him whenever needed.

    1. He’s in my every post in all my words. Someone else with 21 years of metastatic lung cancer had the same experience with someone very similar looking and said roughly the same thing. He had no way to know either of us and we never saw him again.

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