I'm still getting used to
the hammer falls
of your heels on our floor.
The recklessness of the sound
that charges like gunfire
against my eardrums.
You weigh not more
than the sum of my little finger and
when you wake
the feathers of your wings
touch my nose
to giggling tears,
but you walk with a carelessness
I am unaccustomed
and I cannot understand
how something so beautacious
so silly gorgeous and sporting
so fresh a pedicure and
artful a nail job
can walk stunting and with
abandon, until I realize
I've walked on my toes,
catty and twice as squirreled,
for twenty odd years
because I was born to a hell
where each day was
a new way to learn
how to make myself
and my own wings
small
so the monsters couldn't find me.
I'm still getting acclimated
to the ease of
heaven's promenades,
but I'm glad I have you
to teach me.
