She collects angels
the way others amass shoes,

or a child collects marbles
or unicorns, surrounding herself

with their mythical grace
like a plush mink coat.

Filled to its beams
with a thousand wings

her bedroom crouches, ready
to rise from its floorboards

to the grand foyer of her Lord.
She's been praying

for that moment for some time.
She has some questions for him.

Lori Boulard

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/heaven-and-the-working-class/