Recently, a memory of you, asleep
beside me in the wide bed

in Haileybury, your black
hair fanned out on the pillow

like a split seed.
Do you remember

that house? Where we found
the trunk in the attic, full of fancy

clothes, transformed
to our tickle trunk,

holding costumes
for playing dress up. A drapey

black gown glittering
with its embroidery

of rhinestones, the spike-heeled
shoes, leather worn

to metal nibs, and that chiffon
dress, a pale sea-green like the sky

before a harrowing storm.
Years later, or maybe months,

I wore it when I went
as a fairy for Hallowe’en,

and you in costume too,
not protective gear, of course,

or scrubs, or full face
shield back then, protection

from invisible
dangers, but something

so romantic and silly, more innocent
than I could ever imagine you

opting for now. Remember?

That was the Hallowe’en
we got drenched

while trick-or-treating.
My hand-sewn wings broken

by the wet night, your white
veil sodden with sleet.