Explore by Author
Explore by Author
Weight of my Words
Cassandra Aloise
I am a reader, a writer, a witness—but if I show my scripture,
will you shame the curves of my letters?
The ink of my soul spills onto paper,
but if I hand you the book of my heart, will you rip out the pages?
If I write my story in stone, will you bear its weight willingly upon your shoulders,
or will I carry it alone, crushed beneath the load?
My curse—to be forever Sisyphus, dragging the burden of my memories uphill.
Heavy is my shadow, chaining me to the ground
Persephone personified.
To make a mark is to risk it all,
but what if I’m too afraid
to write outside the lines of my own life?
I have poured blood and courage into these pages—
only for the rain to wash the ink away.
I carry stories in my bones
But what is the tale?
Am I a novel, a fractured fairytale?
Or the one who dies in the horror of my own thriller?
Is this a romance—the kind that leaves you satisfied?
Will you weep as you turn the pages?
Is my story a tragedy? Shakespearean or true crime?
You think me Macbeth,
chasing prophecies of my own making—
Will I bring you down with me?
Two still hearts, one pair of bloody hands.
Books course through my veins
As I shake, desperate to be a good one—
with a curious ending.
I don’t believe in happily ever afters.
Still I write, believing I can author my own ending.
I laminate my chapters
To protect the fabric of my soul.
A guilty character, a surprising storyteller,
Passing pages through the prison bars
Wondering, will you read me?
Distant Desire
Cassandra Aloise
Between the hush of midnight screens and distant light,
There lingers you,
A presence stitched in laughter, low and rare,
Yet carried only through the thinning air.
We dwell in spaces neither named nor claimed,
Where want is whispered, i hear your pleas
No promises take root, no fault is blamed
Just fleeting warmth in moments that we need.
Your voice arrives like echoes over seas,
A borrowed closeness drifting through me
But miles, unyielding, vast in their decree
Unwrite the “us” that might have come to be
And so we stay suspended, undefined,
A fragile thread, unanchored yet entwined
For though desire may bridge what hearts construe,
Distance, alas, knows well what desire might do
Sunshine and Rainbows
Tori Banister
A symphony of color dances in the sky.
Below, children laugh on the playground,
Primary colored poles bright and radiant.
Our boy swings next to another on a plastic swingset.
The other parents look at us funny.
We go sit on a nearby stone wall.
I point up to the sky to show Raul a flock of ducks.
They fly towards the sunlight, dusk waiting its turn.
A man near us gets up and leaves
When we start to hold hands.
I stand up and usher my son over,
The sun has begun to set.
“Hi dad!” he says to me, cheerily,
“I met someone, and we’re friends now!”
I smile, but before I can respond,
An elderly woman shoves her finger
In my chest.
“You don’t belong together,” she says.
The echo of the words sting bitter long after
Her breath is gone.
Raul takes my arm and walks us away.
I stare off into the gray eternity of the sidewalk
And my son starts to cry.
I pick him up and hold him tight,
My rainbow bracelet jingling hopefully,
But a little of his sunshine is lost.
Snowy World
A lipogram omitting all vowels except O (and Y)
Tori Banister
Cold storms of tomorrow
Blow snow on old frosts.
Snow glows boldly on rosy cloth.
Words on old books bloom
Snowy dogs who drool on comfy folds.
Mr. Moon holds howls of old pooch.
Long jowls prowl north to known roots.
Snowy woods show comfort for old wolf.
The Hunter and the Hunted
Tori Banister
Cold, unforgiving flakes fall passively to the ground. Snow piles and towers over grass mercilessly. The huntress draws an arrow, quiver shaking on covered corded muscles. The beast lurks near, its mighty growl speaks to its powerful maw. Blood drips on the ends of sharp canines. Fangs bared and hackles raised, it stalks, unaffected by the biting cold. The huntress waits with bated breath, her sharp eyes searching. From behind a snow bank condensation arises. The beast is close.
Frozen in place like a hunted deer, she waits for movement. Pale yellow fur reveals itself, toned windswept legs take their place. Claws dig into the frost-crusted snow, waiting as patiently as the other. A gust of air nearby alerts the beast. A single frozen arrow carves into a frozen tree trunk next to the beasts’ lumbering head.
The beast turns, furious, who dare challenge it to this fatal battle? Spotting its prey it lunges, paws splayed in the snow covered air. The huntress, unprepared, is tackled. Her bow is wrenched from her icy grip, she and her wits are alone now. Snarling fangs rear on top of her, she wrestles, fights, shoves. A fog of fur, hair, and gnashing teeth writhes in the cold. The beast has pinned the huntress, slobber falls before her face, devastating. Overpowered, the huntress’s fate is sealed. But she may have one option left yet-
A door in the skies opens. “Kassie! Come inside, it’s getting late.” The brawl is halted, frozen as the ground beneath it. Heavy breath permeates the air. Victory hangs in the balance, but it’ll have to wait. “C’mon Cosmo, let’s go inside.” The huntress ruffles the beast’s head, ears flopping and metal tag jingling. The two foes walk in tandem towards the door. The souls journey together, as in the skies, so on the ground. Above, the hunter and his dog loom in the drifting night. Constellations of battle and treaty.
A Summer Poem
Tori Banister
Crisp morning dew gives rise to fresh grass,
A perfect carpet for the flora to bask.
Bees vibrate by and flowers bloom,
Up in the sky a pale crescent moon.
It’s on this Earth we find our stay,
This blue planet, nature, takes your breath away.
Leaves on tall trees sway in the breeze,
In this warm weather the world’s at ease.
Squirrels and chipmunks hop across lawns,
Patient mother deer looks after her fawns.
Sit on the porch, watch the world go by,
For each little thing is both yours, and mine.
Even as the twilight shifts to night,
The birds, still at home, return to their flight.
When mother nature seeps into slumber,
Dark skies twinkle and fauna sleep under.
Still awake I lay, awaiting the day,
Wondering what tomorrow will say.
Wasting Away
Tori Banister
Deep in a maze of white walls,
Monitors beep and green lines pulse.
There lies a girl.
Her name is Julia
She is very familiar with the discomfort of her pillow.
She has known sterile floors and wooden doors
For as long as she could blink.
She is very familiar with the sound of bad news.
Many an afternoon she has spent,
Staring out of corrugated windows.
She sees a breeze flutter the leaves
of a nearby oak. The hair on her
neck stands. She strokes her bare scalp
And clasps her hands in her lap.
Medical bracelet heavy on her wrist.
She’s never climbed a tree before.
Her father walks in, and she turns
Towards him, unable to rub away the
Tear on her cheek before he can notice.
He stroked her chin and smiles, weak.
His eyes look tired. She guesses he’s
Been awake for a long time.
The Empty
Victoria Banister
Silent geese fly beneath the overcast
Metronomic drips fall unceremoniously to the ground.
Drip, drip, drip.
I stare out at the misty forest in front of me
Bare trees loom paranoid, carpeted by fallen needles.
Drip, drip, drip.
Evidence of rainfall drifts among the naked branches
Small buds rest on the ends of the smallest twigs
Drip, drip, drip.
The drive home is always the worst
I leave my comfort, my friends, my sunshine
I seep into the Empty, the Void- it infects me
Drip, drip, drip.
Truthfully I take the long way home most days
I know there’s nobody waiting behind my door
Drip, drip, drip.
The sky looks heavy with rain, but it hasn’t yet spoken
It looks so desperate, but the clouds sit there in silence
Drip, drip, drip.
The stone I sit on is damp and cold, coarse and rough
Spiked lawns wait sinister beneath the shade and fog
Drip, drip, drip.
Meaning, I’m supposed to find it
Loneliness, I’m supposed to conquer it
Drip, drip, drip.
I cannot
I hear the gentle honks of geese calling through the gloom
Drip, drip, drip.
They know no maps, no roads, no signs
But they find their way home
Drip, drip, drip.
And as they know where to go, so will I
But my shadow will follow me.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I am
Sayontika Bhattacharya
I am not
The men who have fought for simple freedoms
I am not
The woman who stood for her education
I am not
The people who left their families behind for something better
I am not
blood, sweat, tears, and war
I am not
Justice, courage, and legacy
I am
sleeping in on Sunday mornings
I am
throwing away money on colored drinks
I am
Laughing with luxury behind the white picket fence
I am
Easy, lounging, and wasting time
I am
Happy, sad, and unburdened
I am
Blessed
That I am not.
Untitled
Sayontika Bhattacharya
snow is falling from the sky
and kids are taken far away
ive read about this world before
in the dystopian novels i used to love
I don’t read them anymore
cuz I can watch the news
for my daily fill
of hurt and abuse
who is the hero
that will save us?
there is no person that I believe in
no words that I can trust
if your face is on my screen
then who is behind you
pulling the strings
and writing the scripts
it hasn’t reached me
the plagues not here yet
they have not reached my shores,
my skin is untouched
my armor not worn
my imaginary shield
leaves me the privilege
of ignorance
of compliance
and of silence.
The Frenzy of Fear
Audrey Nash
It’s a cool autumn dawn where the wind rattles the decaying leaves.
All is calm and silent, frosted over from the brisk night.
A tranquil atmosphere is sure to stay
As creatures of the forest settle down
For their long winter nap.
Upon the warming of the coming light,
A luminescent shines on a figure just right
That out of the corner of your eye
You let out a great cry!
A crazed frenzy ignites among the others,
Rambunctious behavior catches flame and spreads like wildfire.
The peaceful morning grows unsettled,
Disrupted by the horrors of the unknown.
Not one knows what they are fearing,
Nor why the congregation of running has occurred.
There is an irremovable cloud above each of their heads
Which consumes the capabilities of collection and critical rationale.
The figure still stands; all movement suddenly ceased.
Idle, yet observant at the atrocity released,
By the sight of such an entity
Who cannot be recognized.
So this fear lingers, simmers down some over time.
By midday there is still suspicion,
But now only intrigued glances and nervous breathing.
Occasionally a scatter of a little creature here and there,
But there the figure stands, frozen and unforgettable.
What I See
Audrey Nash
If only the world saw what I see
they wouldn’t smile and cheer with glee.
No. No. They would cry and frown
At all those heavy weights pulling down.
Long years turn dark and fade
in memory where they eternal laid
to rest. White light equates to blank
as stories unwritten on pages; rank
Your lies and tell only the best,
For this wide world isn’t honest.
Solitude whispers during your prayers—
a pest infesting all the layers—
Of consciousness it reads,
“It’s better this way, anyway,” it leads;
And into sorrow you’d fall, as all the rest,
whose hearts slow beat in their chest.
If only the world saw what I see
they would only choose to flee.
Under cover of night has the best sight
and never have I found a single fright.
Needless to say, the world’s a scary place
but not from the moon, or predator trace.
No, no, it’s from something much worse.
And blends in with the crowd as “societal curse”.
How Now
Audrey Nash
How doth
The libertine conquer
A world overnight?
How now,
Do we chose escape
When the dawn peaks.
How see
Those sparkling gems
Before the blood stains.
How can
Our tracks be hid
And the graves buried
How hear
The sounds of sorrow
And the misery scream.
How tears
Flow down the faces
Of families and death.
Transitions Into Wonder
Audrey Nash
The air that once lay comfort to soft skin,
Now lays pinpricks over my exposed cheek.
The moon brightly shines through dark clouds akin;
For time has come for the sun to grow weak.
In daylight hours, a spectrum of color
Paints a portrait of majesty vivid,
For all to gaze upon with true wonder.
Ere they depart before winter’s livid.
Once smell of barbecues, corn, and peach,
Now turn to rummescent and vast acorn.
Let joy not now be out of your soft reach,
Need not depress yourself to be forlorn.
A peek around is sure to light your eye,
When the true beaut of fall is on the fly!
The Golden Gate
Audrey Nash
Pungent aromas of sweet
honeysuckles and lavenders
fill the vibrant air as I
try to peek around the hedge.
It’s a long way away,
the stone gate to here
but I just might make it
If I really give it a chance.
A solid plan must be devised
In order to achieve success,
My heart beats greater
Than a rabbit startled by a sound.
Eyes fixed on the golden target.
Should I? Should I not?
I’m held down by the weight
Of burden and cloth,
But shall I embrace the challenge
to be Free? It really isn’t too far
Like a spring to a stream
Or a moment to a melody.
The sky’s shade deepening now,
I must now make my move.
Breathe in— Breathe out. . .
Here I go, first step, one more. . .
Actually, maybe I’ll just stay here for one more night.
New Year, New Journey
Audrey Nash
I’ve waited many new years to find someone
who would love me back— more than a friend.
Someone who sees this world in a similar eye,
With a heart that is open for one more plus-one.
How blessed I was, I guess, to have a dove
come to me, like a gift wrapped in paper and
A beautiful bow. And in a short time, not long
after the start, the year took a turn and I entered
its wake. That person I dreamed and drew in
My mind— stood near on the other end of the
line. Hardly could I believe when he said those
precious words, splashing upon me like
A refreshing summer rain. So, into the New Year
I have a new light, and my new light will be my
guide on my new journey, new adventure. My
2026 will strive for the embarkment of love.
As Snow Falls
Audrey Nash
Slowly, white glides down from the sky,
Drifting softly on the calm evening.
Dusk was magenta, and lit the sky aglow,
But was now dark and silent.
Nothing but the sound of two hearts beating
and merry little friends reuniting after a long descent—
Barely noticeable, only in pure, concentrated tranquility.
Nothing else in the world seemed to matter,
Not even the plummeting temperatures—
As chapped lips meet on the dark street,
Cold hands embrace,despite the night air,
And a warmth floods through veins.
Passion ignites a spark of ignorance
to the numbness and pain of the harsh world.
Together and nothing else.
The best feelings were together, not alone.
Cold couldn’t be bothered,
Nor could the biting wind.
The only thing they seemed to mind
Were the little merry fellows
Drifting from their magnificent homes high
In the sky, to come upon the glorious Earth
and cover it in a fluffy blanket.
And keep it warm for the spring to come.
And for the lovers to have a soft place
To find themselves
When they are together
And no one else is around,
For no one else really cared
About the beauty of the small, merry gifts of the world.
A Seed
Audrey Nash
We all came from a seed.
Protected by a hard shell,
Cracked open to feed.
As the layers fell,
We started to bleed,
Our roots beneath the dell.
We all then sprouted,
Petite and proud we rose.
The little green spark shouted
Among the silent lows.
All around they doubted,
But we knew what we chose.
We did not bow down,
But lifted our stems high!
Reversed our shadow’s frown
That Moonlight made lie.
Stretching into our crown,
They heard our battle cry!
Each day a little taller,
Every week a lot wiser.
Our fear shrunk smaller
As we became our own visor.
Far into space was a caller,
Who beckoned a riser.
Soon from our stem came a stalk,
With a ready, green bud to bloom.
Each slow step had their walk,
Until time came for colorful boom.
Imagined myself a portrait of chalk,
Blossoms of all colors that offset the loom.
Inevitable, so it seems, but trust
To keep going since you’ve yet to peak.
Listen to what I say— you must.
The journey’s been wonderful, but leaves leak
When overtaken by lust.
But feel no shame when you feel weak.
For the summer’s soon to awaken—
To put a spotlight on you
And the strides you’ve taken.
In light so bright and blue,
Pride cannot be shaken.
So stand and prepare for a future come true!
The Little Chick
Audrey Nash
O how the chick longs to leave her nest.
It's always been there, there for her to rest.
She loves the sounds of her family's melody
Yet yearns to evolve into her own lady.
In the ripening of maturity, there came
A little Bluejay; solitary and feeling the same.
He whispered her name in the field of gold,
And without contemplation, came a future untold.
O alas what a strange world it is, feeling
Something so powerful yet kept sealing.
One glance, maybe two and she was caught,
Not by hunters' net; but a line always taught.
Steady she tried to blend in the colors--
But the dusk took each one and separated lovers...
Dark thunder clouds rolled in with booming thunder
And mighty and determined was the storm's wonder.
Previous to the unexpected acquaintance, there'd be fear,
Now she felt safe. As though the Jay was near
And had her under his wing.
It was a different security to bring,
But he brought well, and gave assurance
For the long windy road ahead that needs guidance.
The little chick still loved her nest, and all who lived in it. . .
Yet she found, a new spark, a new journey that perfectly fit.
O how the chick longed to leave her nest--
Now sad it's time to go, but excited for future jest.
Ready to experience things she's never done,
And build from scratch her own home— enjoy the fun.
And share it with the one who inspires that feeling...
That feeling without songs or words, good at healing
And makes her feel so good, that even when the seam
Of reality falters, waiting for her will be her most lovely dream.
(Come true)
In My Dreams
Audrey Nash
I close my eyes to open the gate
Into this wonderful world
Since none speak of hate
And the ferns rest unfurled
To watch the sunflowers shine
and the lilacs gloriously sing
Beyond the horizon’s line,
Finds the sun a simple swing
I ride a creature of majesty:
The color of dark chocolate
with a pearl horn of destiny
We take off like a rocket
To explore the sound—
The Symphony of A Star
We reach the painting of planets unfound
So high in the sky, too far
We may never come down,
The magic’s too real—
My smile ten times my frown
Never shall it steal
As we soar through the hazy mist of pure, dreamlike ecstasy.
As we soar through the hazy mist of pure, dreamlike ecstasy.
Never shall it steal
My smile ten times my frown
The magic’s too real—
We may never come down,
So high in the sky, too far
We reach the painting of planets unfound
The Symphony of A Star
To explore the sound
We take off like a rocket
with a pearl horn of destiny
The color of dark chocolate
I ride a creature of majesty
Finds the sun a simple swing
Beyond the horizon’s line,
the lilacs gloriously sing
To watch the sunflowers shine
And the ferns rest unfurled,
Since none speak of hate
Into this wonderful world
I close my eyes to open the gate —
In My Dreams
O Valley o’ Green
Audrey Nash
O Valley,
A green and floral alley
Pure and virgin as a rose.
Flows
The rivers
Of blue ice melt that slivers
Through the lands of lush green.
Sheen
From lunar
Radiance casts; as junior
Youth indulges in such bright
Light.
Hills rolling,
Green tranquility shoaling
While your feet hasten to be
Free.
In the Blizzard
Audrey Nash
As it blows, I can’t feel much.
Biting and thrashing my face,
I’m not focused on feeling such
For I’m numb from tight white lace.
Blind from the violent blows,
Pounding me with white bullets
Making my skin radiate red glows.
Soon enough I’ll find myself
Crying’s no use, for tears just freeze
to my cheeks, they stay there
Gone like autumn’s leaves,
My feelings are none to share.
Slowly I sink into the ground,
Wishing I’ll one day be found. . .
But if not, I’m totally fine
Leaving this world among a cold line.
Real love real loud Christmas at grandma’s
Asiah Mitchell
Every December, our whole family comes together at Grandma’s house for our big holiday dinner. I’m Skye, and if you ask me, nobody does the holidays like the Mitchells.
As soon as we pull up, I’m the first one out of the car, juggling a bag of presents that nearly topples over as I dodge my cousins racing up the sidewalk. Grandma’s house fills up fast. I help Mom, Malikka, bring in her famous cornbread while my older brother Isaiah tries to sneak into the kitchen to steal a piece. “Get out of the kitchen and stop trying to sneak a piece!” Mom hollers, but Isaiah just grins and snatches a corner anyway.
I drop the presents on the designated “gift mountain” in Grandma’s room, then rush back to the kitchen to see if anyone needs help. The air smells like sweet potato pie and baked macaroni, and already my mouth is watering. Auntie Francine is busy with her banana pudding, so I offer to slice the sweet potatoes for her, sneaking a taste of the pudding when she’s not looking—“mmm!” My sisters, kiki and khayla, are setting the table, singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” at the top of their lungs. I join in for the chorus, waving a wooden spoon like a microphone.
In the living room, Dad, also named Isaiah, is deep in a debate with Uncle Josh and Auntie Jennifer about whether the Giants or Eagles are better. The TV blares highlights from old games while Grandpa tells his usual “dad jokes.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help laughing when everyone else does.
My little cousins fly through the hallway, socks sliding—“whoosh!”—across the wood floors. I join them for a lap, almost wiping out but catching myself just in time. We nearly crash into Auntie Sheree, but she saves her pudding with ninja reflexes, giving us the “mom stare” before bursting into laughter.
After dinner, it’s time for the Mitchell family talent show—my favorite tradition. I always get butterflies, but this year, I decided to go for it and perform a stand-up comedy routine about our family’s holiday disasters—the year we forgot the turkey, the time the dog ate half the sweet potato pie, and when Grandpa accidentally set off the smoke alarm with his “famous” ribs. My jokes have everyone cracking up, especially Grandma, who wipes tears from her eyes. I take a dramatic bow, feeling like a star.
Zakiya and Kayla follow up with a TikTok dance, the younger boys beatbox (badly), and Auntie Jennifer sings, hitting high notes so sharp we joke they cracked the window. Dad does his “old school” dance moves and everyone claps along, “clap, clap, clap!”—even Grandma, from her chair.
By the end of the night, I’m curled up on the couch with my cousins, listening to the grown-ups laugh in the kitchen as they clean up. The house is full of hugs, leftovers, and stories about holidays past. The sound of laughter and music wraps around us like a warm blanket.
It’s not a perfect night—something always spills, someone always forgets the rolls in the oven—but it’s ours. Real, loud, and full of love. That’s the Mitchell family holiday, every single year.
What Music Feels Like
Molly Venuti
Music feels like waking up from a nightmare
And feeling relieved your terrors aren’t true
Music feels like walking barefoot on ice
And noticing the way your heart spikes
Screaming your lungs out because you feel free
Like dangling off the end of a boat
and not being afraid to plunge into the sea
Walking in an empty field with a sky too big
Music feels like something true
Sometimes it makes you feel blue
Ripping your chest out and replacing it with one that’s new
Wishing none of the lyrics made you feel the way you do
The way they sadly apply to you
Other times you just feel like jumping with joy
Hitting the ceiling with adrenaline
Finding a beat with your feet
Screaming with happiness because nothing can stop you
A song that resonates
Through lush fields of lilacs and lilies
Rippling through the ocean with vibrations
Crushing the weight of everything that haunts you
A song that resonates
Your heart syncing up with the rhythm
Running out of breath while singing
Feeling your blood pump through your ears
When you find a song that sticks
Something that feels like standing barefoot in the grass
One that plays in the background yet you’d know it anywhere
Like a person you’ll always remember but never really knew
Music sits in the soul
It bonds a brother and a foe
It gives feeling to people who wish theirs away
If gives meaning to people who have lost theirs
A belt, a scream
A message that carries deep theme
A sad song that reminds you
That your heart can beat in a solemn key
Crying at a concert
To lyrics that are you
And your story that is a song
Folk passed along with added pianos and psalms
Verses like these
A leaf gliding in the breeze
Like bowing on your knees
For something to please
The ache in your heart
That music can seize
Many times people don’t like the song
When they hear it for the first time
Like a bitter lie
That they get used to over their life
And once you warm up to that song
It becomes a favorite
Because it isn’t the sound of the guitar
That makes you fall in love with music
It’s the memories you make
The chapters you live
While listening to an album
And when you replay it years later
You learn to appreciate it
Because you lived that song
Now you realize why you love it
Music feels like a spoonful of honey
Or choking on truth
Something upbeat
That denies your love for somebody
Something sad and melancholy
With grace like a swan
The thing about music
Is when you feel it,
You’ll never move on.
The Cemetery Entrance by Caspar David Friedrich
Microfiction associated with this painting by Caspar David Friedrich (C&C assignment): Sharanya Vaidianathan
Beyond the looming pillars of the gate, a layer of mist shrouded the graveyard, as if the cloak of death itself had floated down to earth. The metal bars of the gate caged the yard, almost dangerously, casting a shadow of foreboding gloom over the desiccated land. A single ray of sun cast down through the trees offered the only light, illuminating the gravestones with a glimpse of the beyond. Trees rose in darkening spirals around the graveyard, framing the ominous vision in amber and deep green.
The couple peered cautiously around the left pillar of the gate. The man clutched a walking stick, white-fingered, the base digging into the burnt grass. The woman placed a hand on her heart and the other on the lichen crawling up the ancient pillar. Grief weighed heavy on their backs, shoulders tucked into their body as if to protect them from what lay beyond the cold metal gate.
They came to visit their child, a small body buried beneath a thin wooden cross weathered by age, the body long crumbled to dust within the coffin in the earth. The annual visit, while infused with sorrow and longing, had long since become a moment of peace for the couple. They knelt at the side of the grave, and placed a handful of wildflowers on the earth. The bundle joined an ever-growing heap of withered flowers, petals greying with age.
As the couple rose to their feet to return home, they beheld a white glow that threw feathers of light through the graveyard. The woman cast her eyes up slowly, and they grew wide at the sight.
For, standing before them, at the edge of the yard, was the misty figure of an angel.