[saint michael protect me]

by REY COOPER

i smell him on the night sky. he smells like a new face mask straight from the warm plastic, hot oil, a burning stove, the gym mat. he smells like skin and the air right after it rains. he smells like the dark alleyway you never want to go down, shrouded in steam, and it never goes away.

but there’s something sweet in the afterlife of the smell. a fresh laundry basket. cologne that was carefully bought, something well cared for. i look into his eyes as he works and i see the little child he used to be, with all of his crooked teeth, but if you asked me, i couldn’t tell you what color his eyes are. they are always bleary, full of tears that are never shed, surrounded by bruises that never heal.

sáncte michael archángele, defénde nos in proélio. 

saint michael the archangel, defend us in battle.

i saw a man with golden eyes in saint peter’s basilica. he was standing in the shadow of the papal altar. i don’t remember his face, only his eyes, but he was kind and terrible and young, very young. a little boy stayed near him, blonde-haired in a curly mass. he had white eyes shaped like saint michael’s. when he looked at me, he looked like he knew more than me. his frown told me that he had seen more than anything the world could ever give him.

cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsidium.

be our protection from the wickedness and snares of the devil. 

i walk along the tiber river, the basilica in the distance. i contemplate throwing myself into the water, my back to the people walking by me. will the doves flying around the benches lift me out of the water and into a white-sashed heaven? are the gates open for me? my head will be dropped beneath the water and when it’s lifted, i’ll be looking into those golden eyes like the roof of saint peter’s. i want him to breathe a new life into me, one that i don’t have to be ashamed of because i’d know for a fact that an angel made it just for me.

ímperet ílli déus, súpplices deprecámur, tuque, prínceps milítiæ cælestis,

may god rebuke him, and do thou, o prince of heavenly post,

he was ivory. a baby boy, no more than six months, with eyes so large they rivaled rigel of orion. he was soft, iridescence and roman gild, celtic knots and rose windows hovering over his bassinet. a scale was painted on his left palm, a sword into the divots of his right. his freckles made doves. stars bent down from the sky to rock him to sleep for the last time, and the next morning, when all of the stars were gone, he was too. i like to think he became saint michael.

sátanum aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in múndo, divína virtútee, in inférnum detrúde.

by the power of god, cast into hell satan and all evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. 

i smell him on the night sky. i smell the oil, i smell the cologne and see his crooked teeth. he lives in the streetlights and the lit windows of office buildings off the highway. the man from saint peter’s and the little boy that looked just like him, so mournful and horrible with the eyes that knew too much, still live in that holy land by the baptismal river. the little ivory baby, he lives everywhere i look and breathe, his ghost with feathered wings in the corner of classrooms and bedspreads.

may he rest in peace.

ámen.

amen.

 

Rey Cooper (they/them) is a student of Kinder HSPVA’s Creative Writing Department, and they specialize in screenplays and other longform works. When not writing, they are watching superhero TV shows and reading high fantasy novels. Their creative influences include Aurora Aksnes, Andrej Sapkowski, and Keto Shimizu.