Two Pieces
Lucy Whalen
The Last Star
Sometimes, around this time of year,
You can see what a real angel looks like.
You have to wait for the right nights, of course,
When the world
Spins so fast that
Even stars stop dying,
And shadows of shredded wings
Emerge from the snow
Falling over oceans,
Wait for nights when the sky is too quiet
And you can feel
The universe shattering like glass,
Then try singing words I couldn’t show my ancestors
To the moon’s reflection on the water.
Maybe, when the last star has gone out
You’ll find her
Halo, shining like a lamppost over a changeling,
Lighting up scabs on her shoulders that
Glisten in the rain
Like scales.
If you ask nicely, she’ll let you come back with her,
Falling all
the
way
down
to
The ocean floor,
Where the currents silence all
The names she did not ask for.
And we will hold each other,
Bound by prayers from
All those they
Thought we had forgotten.
The Girl at the Piano
(an ode to dark academia)
You’re probably cold here,
But in my mind there’s always logs in the fireplace.
The wind is howling outside,
Scratching the glass
And you’re terrified -
But all I hear is your song lulling
In the late December breeze.
The darkness makes it hard to see,
So I draw you a candle, and
You lag over the keys like I stumble over mine,
Doubling back,
Making mistakes that make you want to give up and go to bed,
But two hundred years and a song away
Your bloody hands are cleaned by angel tears,
And you are a note held in place by my stave.
Until you pause for a moment, turn to face me -
And remind me that its 50% off
At the sofa store.
Lucy Whalen (she/her) is a poet from England who explores the scary sides of love, loss, obsession, and nostalgia. In winter, she likes to sleep and watch The Holiday on repeat. You can find her at @lucywhalen01 on Twitter and @lucy_whalen on Instagram, or at www.lucychar.journoportfolio.com.