from boykeats

i.

his silver-feathered hands rest
palms down on the table.
his body looks hazy today like
a glass cup full of sunlight.

you are on your 3rd coffee
when he says, please try to get
some real sleep tonight. you think
about how rent will be tough
to make this month, how work
will be overtime, how your feet
are still sore from yesterday. you flip
pancakes, then ask if he wants
any eggs or bacon on the side.

thought i was your guardian,
the angel shoots back. he grins
at you. his teeth
are river reeds.

ii.

you are one year old,
and xe enjoys shifting
shape for you: lazy
greyhound to proud
tiger to macaw that
whispers hello, perched
on your crib while you
laugh. in 24 years,
xe will pull you from
a car crash unharmed.
in the next room,
your parents sleep.

iii.

you look at the mirror again
and pull on the hem of your jacket.
you turn to her, ask, what’s it feel like
when you fall in love?

she’s sprawled on your bed, willow
branch wings spread out across
your bedroom floor. your uncle
will need an unexpected funeral
in 6 months, and she has chosen
what hymns she’ll sing to you.
it’s as if your heart, she says,
were a beehive teeming
with woodsmoke and clover
honey. did you know constellations
declare their love for each other

through complex math equations?
you roll your eyes. she passes
the cellphone to you. her angel-skin,
a metallic gold,
shimmers and ripples.