I counted two-hundred and fifty-five stars in my front
yard, and number one-hundred and eighty-five listened as I whispered
my first real prayer. You
came home, as promised– with hands gripping the sun–
light trickling between the plastic blinds
and eyes darker than my own.
Despite the warnings and obvious dangers,
I would sneak into your powder and paper smelling
crib, curling myself tightly enough to make my knees
ache, I tried counting your eyelashes, concluding there were as many
as there are stars in the backyard: one-hundred and two.
That night it snowed for the first time in eight years, dad joked
you were our snow angel– our blue freckled sun.
Lisa Compo currently attends Salisbury University studying creative writing and working for the SU Writing Center as a consultant. When she isn’t writing, you can find her performing on a stage, or cuddling with her cat, Noel.