Cloudless

You stir, slowly at first, then all at once,
Lurching from an invisible impact,
Chest arching like a bird desperate for flight.
Loam pours forth from your mouth, dark and forbidden;
It is then I know you are a daughter of the earth
And that your eyes hold not the turmoil and quiet of a fickle sea
But a wide and expansive sky.

Your children have the reverence of sunflowers
At sunset. I sometimes dread the cloudless days when
They arrive, clamouring, clawing the door
At the promise of a walk. Your porcelain body
Jostles down the beaten path in your sedan chair
Prim as a doll. It is not the walk I fear, but
Knowing that clouds are cumulative in nature
I keep one eye skyward, and wait.

They have forgotten the storm brewing in your belly.
They have forgotten that patchwork is only as strong as their seams.

The morning fog contorts and descends like a frown
Splayed across your features.
I call out, a desperate sound, and there is
A flash of blue, a flash of white
And nothing.