The Angel of Disassociation taps at the sliding glass
door and beckons. Behind her, the night sky
is velvet flecked with sharpened
shards of gold. The girl rises
from the computer chair, undoes
the deadbolt, steps into cold air. Silent,
the two of them pick blueberries
that press against the fence. Their hands
run sticky. Their teeth stain blue. Still chewing,
they roll their cuffs, dip their feet into the pool.
The girl hugs her arms across her
Sailor Moon shirt. Stares as her chipped neon toes
kick, submerged. Says, Online, some guy
just asked if I knew how to—the angel lifts a finger
to her lips. Shh, she says. She braids the girl’s hair,
berry juice smearing strands. Do not let them
strip you of infinity, she murmurs. Remember,
you are like this.
The angel lowers one hand into the water,
rinsing until it is bare. Juice dissipates
with the smell of chlorine. The rippling waves.
The reflection of stars.