Inspired by the experiences of Kristine Hartvigsen
by Kristine Hartvigsen
I would hover above the battlefield at night, jam all the weapons, exact calamitous pain on any foe with a zero on you.
I would sprinkle magic dust over the whole of your trench, breathe warmth into the crook of your neck, and gently pat the cowlick at your hairline.
I would watch the vapor of your breath rise in the cold night air, lift your head off the barrel of your M-4, and temper the ruddy brand left on your face by grooves in the steel.
I would wave my wand to lighten the heft of your ruck, heat the socks inside your muddy boots, cast a fullness in your belly.
I would bless your cigarette with healing calm, make my glitter form a brimming shield, plant bulbs of a future beyond this distant place.
I would pollinate your dreams with hope, infuse your heart with memories of a time — not so long ago — when all of this was just play.