Snow Angels by Joseph Buckley

                     Davide Ciriello CC



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Snow Angels

   When the snow fell, we drew in the living room. The devil wouldn’t show me its picture. My drawing had me on top of a mountain, fires spitting out of my palms, and eyes, and same for the roofs of every house scribbled below. The people I drew were running from buildings on fire. They were on fire. When I spoke more heat came out I could not draw.
   The devil walked outside and I followed. It asked me how to make a snow angel. I dropped into the still powder. The devil laughed when a trail of snow fluffed into the air above us. I imagined this was what home movies felt like. I imagined I could show this to future friends after our dinner party. I imagined I would hold a secret pride as they hear I’ve been laughing with others all along.
   I dragged my arms and legs up and down hoping to make an impression. The devil laid its body back and the snow melted. 


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Joseph Buckley is a New Orleans poet who is the creator and curator of the Small Talk zine. His poems have been published in December, Fogged Clarity, BOOG City and elsewhere.