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.
