There goes the Snowangel –
and silent.
Encased by a thin film a skin,
pungent secrets rotting below
deep in the rolling turmoil.

they used to say.
Come being your frosty self,
stiffened fingers and toes,
half-frozen heart,
dance with the universe
color with the hues.

Yet all the color that the snowangel could find,
were the blossoming violets and blues
on a shattered body.

Come listen,
the children whispered.
Come hear the snowangel’s mind whirring,
the gears clicking and shifting –
– she’s living.
It seemed impossible,
Those glazed and distance eyes,
the never twitching muscles,
she seemed blind to the world.

Far away as she might seem,
her ears caught every whisper,
her aching nerves felt every poke
and her eyes saw every revolted look shot her way.

Come watch
the children should have called:
let’s go see the snowangle fall deeper under drifts of snow,
let’s go help her dig the hole.

The earth once tried to breathe life into the
Galaxies cried for her,
stars burst,
planets escaped rotation,
just so they could exhale.

But none of the stardust reached the snowangel,
frozen on her perch of solitude.
It was too far away,
so when then years had passed,
and people looked up to see
the sky roaring with the colors of the breath,
a healing song humming in the air,
there was no snowangel to be found.
For she had crumbled into a shadow,
faded into the wall
until only a memory she remained,
as the skeleton in the photos of
others childhood memories.


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