There is a plaque on Olvera Street that names the city wherein I grew up as El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de Los Angeles — The Village of our Lady, Queen of the Angels.
Look at any map and you will see it criss-crossed with streets named after saints: Santa Monica, San Vicente, San Pedro — to name just a few. The names seem to reflect — at least to me– a mystical and transcendent quality of this city.
With Angels Watching
Would it be that all the saints, all the angels, even the Queen of Heaven herself looks down upon this city?
What would they see? What would they do?
Yes, they would weep over the poverty and crime, over the homeless seeking to make a living.
And of course they would tremble with us when the ground shakes or the canyons burn.
Would they rejoice with the whales as they peek from the sea or sing with the coyotes in dark sycamore forests?
Did they watch over the mammoths in ancient days? Apparently not, it would seem.
Would they be in awe of the edifices we puny humans have built?
Would they hold back the rain but let the snowfall?
Perhaps they would.
I don’t know what angels think, but I know they are here,
and they watch.
Images and poem by ljgloyd (2016)