Breadcrumb #521

CATHERINE KYLE

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. 

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