One Night I Dreamt of an Angel by Bret LeBeau

I sat for breakfast at a diner
And saw her in the booth across from mine.

A plate of crumbs on her table.

She watched me order, receive my order and begin to eat.
Don’t just eat it, she said.
Don’t just put it in your mouth, chew and swallow.
If you do it like that then what’s the point?
It should be done this way instead.

Her plate now had breakfast on it.

She looked at the food.
Eggs, ham, hashbrowns under her gaze.
They began to tremor and hum on the plate.
The grease radiated like the sun.

See now, she said.

The tremoring grew violent.
Bits of egg spilling out.
The hashbrowns breaking apart.
The ham swelling and levitating.

This is how, she said.

The humming rose to a chaotic raucous.
The rays of light enveloped the plate,
Then the table,
Then everything within the diner.
I screamed.

Other nights, I never dreamt of an angel.
The days that followed ended all the same.

Bret LeBeau is originally from New Orleans. He currently lives in Colombia, SC with his wife and son where he makes a living as a ghostwriter. In 2016 he received an MFA in creative writing from the University of Memphis.