At six, atop the kitchen counter
you cut shapes from an A & P

paper bag, and with lower lip
bitten and furrowed brow

used glitter and glue
to make wings.

You called my name
in perched delight--

“I can fly--watch me!”
Then with elbows extended,

hands tucked into armpits,
paper tied to your back with string,

you descended behind the sparkle,
softness of kitchen window light:

our own magic stained glass,
streaming in, soaring.