POETRY

Apollo

He appeared without a sign

Photo by Igor Dernovoy on Unsplash

I had convinced myself
that miracles never reached me.

I stood beneath my childhood tree,
the last place where magic had ever existed,
trying to remember when
I had stopped believing.

I no longer remembered the dates,
only the quiet certainty
that wonder belonged to other people.

Then something happened.

A shift.

The morning sun slipped through the leaves,
spilling gold across my periphery,
until my necklace caught the light.

Apollo’s star.

The little pendant shimmered
against my collarbone,
as though it had swallowed a fragment of heaven.

Surely, I thought,
it was my imagination.

Then the rays brightened again.

It was such a little thing, really.

But something in me trembled.

I remembered the glitter of childhood,
the incandescent happiness of believing,
the girl who…