Exangel

by Marissa Bell Toffoli.

Garland of lions, roar of paper.
Must tether these tatters

scratching across the library tabletop.
They prowl my dreams, always

on the periphery.
My blind spot moves. I dream

of your steady heartbeat,
of flying. The lions wait.

Bent spines and hardcovers
can only hide so much.

In the mirror, I hardly recognize myself.
If I change the light, open that window there?

A lion shakes out its mane in the sunset.
Northern fires fill the air with smoke.

Haunted. Hunted. We carry our fears
around like chains.

I decide to feed my losses to the lions.
Then, line by line, I’ll count what we have.

Hold fast to that instead.

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