After the savage
and delicate storm
the forest shimmers
with a million
switchblades
that catch and refract
the low-angled light
the world’s a museum
of crystal and rime
verglas and hoarfrost
every needle and limb
a Swarovski creation
what we expect to be
an ephemera
of scattered rhinestones lasts
half a week—
it’s only later I hear
those were the last days
of a boy in our town
two years’ sick
who died in his parents’ arms
all three of them held in that
sequined cathedral
as he made his passage
so thin the cellophane glaze
that separates being
from un-being
soon after the canopy disrobed
all at once and dropped its
chandelier prisms everywhere
the chance to pass through
that kingdom of splintered glass
is our inheritance
and still it seems these trees
could shatter
at the barest touch
Wendy Kagan is a writer and editor living in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains, where she finds inspiration in her two spirited daughters, artist boyfriend, and pair of cats. She studied literature and creative writing at Vassar College and Columbia University, penning her master’s thesis on the love poetry of Emily Dickinson. Her poems have appeared in The Baffler and Chronogram magazine, where she is also the health and wellness editor.