she cries

She Cries
Evana Vleck
Don’t consider me a poet because I spit words in and out of rhyme
And completely out of reason
for no reason
no reason at all it seems.

Just a distant memory of figs falling from the tree outside of our church
My mother eating the sweetness out of flowers as the petals float to the barren dry earth,
beneath her sole as clouds dance by.

She cherishes crooked memories diluted with honey and sticky, sweet. She holds babies in her arms and sings songs of birds, spiders and buntings as they get gently rocked into deep slumber covered in mother’s milk
It’s true.

She cuddles with a soft lamb she calls her child and gently traces her own smile…
And she cries quietly to the moon, buried deep within feathers that smell of Clorox and dust.

Boo is the name of her father and he cascades onto the bed
He points his bony digit towards the earth and leans back to admire the heavens laden with old stucco.

Crowds of laughter and tiny footsteps attend to his tired body and tug at his boots as he becomes a playground covered in dirt from the bottom of our souls.