meteorite

i used to wonder about the stars and i dreamt that an angel told me the pagan gods of old, once angels, had compressed themselves into tiny beads and weary and tired, threaded themselves across the night's blanket, trailing feet and galaxies across the skies, looking for heaven - for home - once again.

there's a meteor shower, the night you were born,
countless shooting stars f
                                      a
                                        l f
                                          l a

                                              l

                                                l

                                                  i

                                                    n f

                                                      g e

                                                               l

                                                                         l to the earth,

pinpricks of light unfurling into tall, forgotten goddesses, all ice-cut beauty, flaxen hair and diamond-cut smiles, and they hunt for you, feet flying over the rough ground swiftly, teeth bared and voices crying out in a cacophony of harsh cries and they're hunting, hunting for you and the call of your soul is mesmerising.

seventeen years later,
they climb their way
back to the stars, weeping
like harpies as a bundle of
blotchy pink skin, tousled black
hair and henna eyes are born
in the south, because they'll
have no chance to devour
your soul, not anymore.