Why do angels have wings, I asked my mother one day.
Why not roller skates or surfboards or magic carpets. And won’t their long robes lift up when they fly? I mean, people would see their broeks and stuff.
Ma was crouching by my side, safety pins in her mouth, busy pinning the seam of a new dress for me. She sighed and wiped a fine spray of sweat from her high forehead with the back of her hand.