Sister/Seraphim, inextinguishable light

They dancing and singing tonight.

Black Barbies backlit by gas station fluorescence

stunning—singing holy, holy, holy.

Their loud praises rattling my window,
syncopated steps, wings out, rhythm on, radiant
with the backbeat unbroken, backs unbroken
unfettered and unbothered in eight and sixteen time.

This very night there before me is an angel and
I saw her drop it low.

All while cars pull in and out,
top off or fill up at the pumps—
I can relate to being half empty
and thirsting to be full.

She—her—they—they blazing.

This could be worship.
Loud and exuberant as every light
leached club where I once got hot and sweaty
to reggae, rubbed underneath some body
as vigorously as kindling before catching fire.

It could be easy to forget how
good adoration feels, (I can’t forget)
what good feels like, (paradise).

They so flame and I see it.

It could be heaven.
This lot of half leveled bumpy concrete
glittering full jeweled with bottle shards and
wrapping paper confetti.

They could burn it all down.

They invite us to join the chorus.
Angelique Zobitz (she/her/hers) is the author of the chapbooks Burn Down Your
 (Milk & Cake Press) and Love Letters to The Revolution (American Poetry
Luna Luna Magazine named her one of "5 Poets of Color to watch in
2021," alongside Chen Chen and Amanda Gorman. She can be found at and on Twitter and Instagram: @angeliquezobitz