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i close my eyes

& tangle my fingers
in threads of sunlight.

i braid strands.
kiss them on their foreheads.
they taste like the lustrous

cream pastries nana used to
bake. i crisscross them over
the ceiling. skinny strings of

gold. i revel in my talent.

when i was little, nana nestled me
in the crook of her leathery arm &
carried me to meet the sun. he

patted my cheek but my skin
did not burn. i was a miracle.

darkness seeps
into my periphery.

my eyes open.