Megan Vinson, Comparative Literature
she remembered him
between moonlight and earth;
he told her he used to walk through smoke
couldn’t breathe, he said. and sometimes
she practiced, lying still until her lungs ached
until she broke and flew away like moths in a night sky.
she wanted to lie softly beside him, fresh rain and sweat.
i fear no underworld, she would say, i fear no shades no devils no beasts.
i know dark places and heavy burdens. i am not afraid.
she wished to tell him all things she knew
of sunlight and bread
to hold him gently in her arms, becoming light in the rays of his voice
and breathe, sea-water finding the shore,
between moonlight and earth.