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they say she fell from the sky, a fallen angel we rescued. song, the fisherman, was the one who pulled her from the sea. she was on her back, he said, just floating in the waves, eyes to the sky. he swore she was sobbing when he brought her on board, loud, the sound of the ocean crashing against his boat. song shouted he found an angel when he returned to the village. most thought he was joking, but once they saw her, they marveled. she was the color of milk, unlike any of us, who were shades of wet mud. she was soft & smooth. those who touched her at the shore wept—they could feel heaven in her hands. it wasn’t long until everyone from the village heard about her & ran down to see her. when song’s wife saw the woman’s naked body, she yelled at everyone—we are not crows! picking at what’s not ours. song’s wife took her home & clothed her. there, our angel rested for days. each day, song’s wife would change her, but the angel never said a word. that didn’t stop people from visiting her, from whispering their pain in her ear. they say she healed our land, us. never before had we had a more prosperous time. our animals grew fat. our sick shook away their illnesses. & our crops rose to the heavens.
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we pray to her every year. the whole village. it’s never at the same time of summer. grandma says we can only pray when we drench, when we can’t take the sun & have to hide from the heat, just how the weather was like when our angel came. some kids from class like to guess when we’ll start building mud women & roasting meat. they like to chase after our dogs & cats & think if they can catch one, it’ll be time for the festival. that’s how they measure the heat. they once caught ten dogs in a week, but nothing happened. i usually sit outside & watch them, wishing to join. my parents never let me run far away from grandma. her hip could fall to the ground again, & i have to be there for her. i never understood what help i could be—how i was supposed to reach into her insides & push her bones back in place.
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they don’t like to talk about how she left—how a man, who called himself a police chief, from towns far away, came looking for her after hearing about our miracle. how they led him to song’s house & showed him our angel. how the man first tried to trick them, saying she was what men used when they were lonely & without a woman, a sex doll. how he then asked to spend the night next to the angel, hoping to be blessed, but woke up in the middle of the night & took her from us. they used to shout at each other for being fooled. but they realized that the heavens would take her back up. no one could keep her planted into the ground forever.
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on the day of the festival, a group of us kids sneak out at night, after we’ve eaten roast, cleaned our houses, & sat in silence while our parents sent up their hopes & dreams. we head down to the shore where she was first brought to us & we stand in the water & hold hands. then—we scream at the sky. prayers aren’t meant to be silent like our parents believe. they have to be shot into the air like an arrow. how else will they be heard? we ask for all sorts of things. good weather. to grow tall. for love. few ask for her return like me. for her to fall back down to us so she can live among us. so she can touch my grandma & reshape the bones in her hips—no longer did they have to be broken tree branches, but tree stumps, rooted & full of strength. maybe then grandma could go off on her own adventures without help, & i could go with my friends, chase dogs & cats under the sun until we were golden dripping swells our angel from the sky could tumble into.