The Come Down

Nicole Wasylak

Glorious they were, as golden wings aloft

Floating, in a sea of energy I could only call gold.

Because yes, I was alone, but lonely I was not.

And I heaved my wings up and let them

rise

rise

rise

Sails to a boat that would carry me away,

high and drunk off a day I didn’t want to hand over to the night,

and so I coveted it, my secret drenched in gold —

in silver, yes, today, I think I shall call it silver!

Because gold I say too much, and have mentioned aplenty, but silver?

No, the color had never spilled from me before

Yet on a night when I grew wings, it surely did

They were far lighter than I expected —

Like the finest silks in Morocco, pooling beneath my leaden arms

Clinging to my back, ribbons that did not follow a rhythm ---

but crafted one, demanding that I, the body, obey

And so I did —

in the cupboard that was my room,

the stage that was my floor,

and the audience that was whatever ghosts that observed as I spun.

Around and around, a spool of moonlight,

a smile that was as wide as it was real

And no one would be here to witness it.

This final act of my show, the last sentence of a chapter

that would never again write itself anew, and to that I say, well done!

Well done, traveler, for you and I have forgone the need for eyes,

letting our own feet, own smile, own wings carry us to the heavens —

and this time, when we came back, we did not fall, but let our feet find the grass, let our minds quietly seek its own dreams

And what beautiful dreams they were.