adieu to the angels in my backyard
you came to me on a friday afternoon in the sandbox of my backyard. your body carved out halos in the sand where you tore down my sandcastle in the twinkle of an eye. you wrapped your diaphanous wings around my delicate ribs until I sent tendrils of warm breath into the wintry sky. we built snowmen in the sand and then in the snow until my hands became crystals. you crowned my feet of clay with wreaths of ivy. of evergreen. you whispered to me, your frosty breath biting my face, clouding my vision. spring came, melted the sidewalks of the streets, placed fertile forbidden fruit on the fig trees. summer came, fig nectar stained lips lined with gluttony. fall, fig pulp stained the sidewalk the color of my blood, then winter, a barren womb all over again, but we remained in the sandbox with our snow angels made from snowmen- snow creased into the faint outline of our bodies. then one december evening the sky blazed, light reflected off the snow, blinded our eyes. you whispered for one last time, your breath cold, your wings fragile. your halo stripped by the sky. you collapsed onto the snow angel I smothered with my body, shivering, our bare backs touching, your breath melting into my silhouette. stained the white snow a holly red.
a week from now you will be gone and I will trace snow angels in the sand where the shapes of
our bodies used to lie.