it’s not over for you
Kyrsten Su | Art by Katherine Cui
yesterday a seraph came to visit me,
coaxed by the gray misery lining my cheekbones.
she padded across my wooden floors,
each step trailed by ethereal light.
she pulled my tired body out of bed,
left rosy pink fingerprints on my wrist.
she tasted the air thick with shadow,
swirled it on her tongue, swallowed, and sighed.
she opened the window with a flourish,
let in warmth on a spring wind.
she lifted my chin to the light,
her silhouette blurred and prism-fractured.
she whispered, almost too softly,
that it’s not over for me. (it’s not over for you.)
she cupped my face. (oh, you! capricious little vixen, you!)
(this world is none too kind to those who are so.)
(freckle-dusted and full of love, poor thing, you never stood a chance.)
(tell me dear, what does the day-moon remind you of?)
light where it’s not supposed to be. an ordinary miracle. an aliferous angel. hope. yes, hope.
(see? there’s hope for you, yet.)
(yes, left hapless by the cosmos, you’ll fight your way through.)
(life is too brilliant, too brief, too bright.)
(welcome the morning and all it will bring.)
she balanced on my windowsill on the tips of her toes, glittering and graceful and gone.
and i sat there, felt the silken silence on my cheek,
lifted my chin to the light that had carried her to me.
(touch your face.)
(above your lips, past the bridge of your nose, under your brow. there, you’ll find green hope.)
