MASSA CARNIS   The first time you meet an angel, you are four years old. You’re sulking with your back to the laundry room door because you’ve gotten tired of banging against it. Mother and Father are playing loud music anyway, the bass reverberating through the door. At least, you’ve decided, you can be annoying, when they unlock the door later and find you blocking the way.   You’re a very spiteful person. You vastly overestimate your own competence. The angel is tall, taller than the ceiling, even, bending over to fit in the tiny room with all six of its wings, and it’s so bright that you can barely stand to look at it. It’s covered in eyes, hundreds of them in every color and form you can think of, human eyes and bug eyes and cat eyes and spider eyes and fish eyes and all of the ones that can blink at you do. You bare your teeth at it. The angel says your name, the one that dziadzia uses and no one else, because of all the Zs. It doesn’t have a mouth. Its face is all eyes and light shifting restlessly underneath translucent skin, bulging... Read More