I push her on the swing, tied to the tall branch of the giant tree in her front yard.
It’s not like when we were kids, but it’s still sweet on a warm late April afternoon.
We are quiet, letting the wind whisper and the leaves rustle, the sun warm us.
She’s back in town for Spring Break, and I’m having one of my calm spells, all is well.
Her slim shoulder blades are warm under my palms, as I softly push her up and up again.
The tree is the Tower of Babel before it was struck down, when we could both speak.
Another year has passed. She sends funny cards for my birthday, and a book store gift card.
I write her poems that I email her college account, wresting beautiful words out of my unquiet.
My uncle joked when we were kids that we’d get married one day, but her angels were stronger.
Her angels were stronger and she is still a child of the sun, and I fight to climb back to daylight.
Demons, like wasps in caterpillars, plant their fetid seeds in your dreams, eat them from the inside.
She looks up through the leaves to the blue sky, and there’s still one of her angels holding my hand.
She asks if I want to go with her to Roland’s for supper tonight, says it will be her treat.
I say yes, and I almost feel normal, like a real live human, having friends, going out with them.
She hugs me, and she seems so small in my arms, so much gossamer swallowed by my weight.
She gives me an extra squeeze and she walks to the porch, waves back at me before going inside.
I wave back, and then walk down the streets that seem so mocking, so dark in their amiable light.
Tonight I will see her, and we’ll have a good time, and I’ll keep that ember to fight the hungry wasp.