Happy Meetings

Happy Meetings

Mallory Nygard

I stole an angel’s halo when I was eight years old,
unearthing heaven’s prodigal lightning, softly gripped. 
I found it buried in the shed there growing mold.
My hands deep in fermented dirt exposed its crypt. 

In dulled suburban fog, I tasted the breath of God – 
a hand-held molotov of malbec and ancient grains
against my tongue, my palms, my ribs. The room of wood
expands when pearled wings unfurl to wipe my bloodstained 
tears. 

Too much power, beauty, strength for one to hold. 
Is that the reason why he left his crown behind?
To rest? To run? To make a life and grow too old?
But is he walking empty streets alone and blind?

Halo in my pocket, planks around my feet, 
I look for him whose treasure promised me we’d meet. 

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Mallory Nygard
Poet & Librarian

Mallory is the author of Pelican and has been published in Relief Journal & Amethyst Review

Photography by Fre Perez