Revisionist Poetry – “Little Guardian in the Thrift Store” – Bargain Store Gargoyle, v.4

In the back of the bargain store,
where glassware clinks softly
and a cracked lamp throws
its yellow pool on the shelf,
I find a gargoyle
no bigger than a loaf of bread.

Its concrete skin is pitted,
its nose chipped,
its mouth set in a permanent scowl
that somehow looks more like concern.

I turn it in my hands.
A little dust lifts from the grooves
of its wings,
and the room seems to brighten
around that rough little face.

Not much has been asked of it now—
not rain, not stone spires,
not midnight winds.
Still, it stands ready
with its bent shoulders,
as if even here
it means to keep watch.

I place it on my windowsill.
At once, the morning light
finds its broken edges,
and the shadow it casts
looks almost like a pair of wings.