this world is brighter than the sun; dempsey

[Oksana]

you taught me the courage of the stars before you left

how light carries on endlessly, even after death

The day had come and gone just like so many before. And it was only as night fell and the stars bled gold through the black that Oksana knew this day would be different after all. As quickly as she could, which was not so quickly at all these days, she had made her way to the open stretch of beach at the Chambers edge, unfurled a monstrous pair of prehistoric wings, and fell into the waiting dark of the vast night sky. And just a little while later, with sweat dampening the hollows of her neck, the Meadow had opened like a hand to catch her as she dropped.

When the first streaks of pink and gold lit the sky to signal the start of a new day, dawn found not one, but three damp silhouettes tucked inconspicuously beneath the cover of the trees. A mare, tired but pleased with wings that were substantially smaller now, and two impossibly perfect children, one red, the other brown.

Oksana felt the swell of love in her heart like an impossible pressure in her chest as she rose on tired feet to stand above them. It was always like this, seeing them for the first time after knowing them for so long in such a different way, like a fire in her gut that burned everything else away. It became the only thing that mattered. The agony of birth a pain she gave herself to freely, willingly.

Her breath catches like a burr in her chest as she reaches down to touch the brown and white filly, the firstborn, who had just begun the struggle of defying gravity and balancing on legs that seemed entirely too fragile beneath that delicate, teetering body. “Isle,” she breathes, pressing her lips to the white whorl on the girls forehead, “my beautiful Isle.” The red colt, red like his mom (and oh, how she loves this), is quick to mimic his sister. And then both are crushed together, defying gravity together, a tangle of red and brown and white. The boy stands closer and she reaches out to brush her lips so lightly down the length of his spine. “Wyck,” she breathes, and there is only love resonating in the warmth of her beautiful face, “my perfect Wyck.”

She tucks them close to her belly, a single wing lifting to enclose them. And before the words even leave Oksana’s mouth, Isle says in a voice that is impossibly soft, “I love you too, mama.”

oksana