Then God said,
Let there be a pillow fight
that lasts all winter.
But you angels are tough,
and love to rough house,
so let each angel put his
pillow in heaven’s freezer
until the appointed hour.
And during the last and first
few months of the year,
when humans (in the Northeast in particular)
grow restless and bored,
fling wide your freezer doors and meet
in the great square with frozen pillows.
Do not so much as look at another angel
sideways until I say “Go.”
The streets of gold will disappear below you,
and then, my wild ones, you are free to
obliterate one another with frozen pillows
until the seams split and feathers fill the air.
Fight until there is no fight left in you,
until the pillows are empty and your arms
When you are done, and recalling stories about who
knocked who out and how Gabriel called time out
but got absolutely thwacked anyway, my children will
wake up to a ground soft with the white of your play.
And (in the northeast particularly) there will be some
soft sighs, squeals, and frustrated groans, as children
put on boots to play, and grownups wrap themselves in
black marshmallow coats, moving through the white
with their heads bowed, as if the magic isn’t real.