in 1918 she pretended
to be as old as the century so she
could marry a war-worn boy
who came from the sky.

the incoming roar of the twenties
was too familiar for him, but
she grew wings and cut her hair
and he loved the way she glittered
between smoke-soaked syllables.

he hummed jazz when they made love
and the click of her beads kept time.
they spokeasy in those days.

tuesday was dark, the crash was silent
and the depression swallowed her whole.
music faded and her glitter turned to glass.
she bled out on the kitchen floor.

he left for the sky two days later,
taste of gunpowder on his tongue.

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a/n: i'm very undecided about this piece. feedback would be lovely.