Clouds

The sun looks

buttery today—

and the clouds of this

September sky appear as

flakes of popcorn strewn across

a waning, pastel blue— all

bleeding into

the arms and breath of space,

forever

I want to be up there, among them—

gliding with

the southbound geese and

seraphim,

not a care or worry in

the world—

and I wonder: would

they know I don’t

belong there (if)

I was to suddenly be

weightless?

The shapes of ice cream cones now

huddle by

the pale, half-moon: she

lingers there,

like a whisper on

the daytime’s lavish canvas—

why does she insist on staying there like that—

like a pallid, faint tattoo?

Sometimes I think she loves the sun too much,

as I do—

and that she’s undesired by the catatonic

night,

which holds her far-away side captive

If Anthony were here, I’d point her out to him—

(the moon, that is) and

watch his little face light up:

brighter than the Autmun’s soft, docile glow

right now,

and let her know we see her—

that she’s not alone

A panda bear— ivory tuffs in love with

cotton rain, arises on the edge of my

peripheral

I do not see a

shoot or budding bloom of bamboo in

the marbled mist, but then the

wind shifts, (and)

I remember,

in September, the

world is full

of apples

And I think that if I had

a little apple-blossom of my own,

I’d want to spend some time here painting all

these geese and clouds—

teaching him or her about how

the changing sky is

nothing less than picturesque,

and peaceful

Butter turns to marmalade—

the figures in the clouds now creped

with stains of apricot, and my

pareidolia has me outline

hornets chasing honeybees in heaven’s playground while

I dream of you, sweet pea

*

-Gina C. 🧚‍♀️✨