Cloud Shapes (#35)

September, spaciously
Spidered, appled and
Gleaming, as though
We could see the air—

Eyes lifted, recalling
Third grade clouds drawn
Fluffy and puffy and never
Quite white, crayons melting

Through blue construction paper.
After school, laying on the
Lawn with my aunt, eighty four,
The one who knew a one-legged

Civil War drummer boy, September
Clouds taking any shape they
Pleased, she pointed:
“That one’s a tea kettle,” and

“There’s a bowler hat.”
Bless my aunt. She never said
“Look, a clock, spinning
Backwards. Wait, forwards!”

Or, “There! Pages
Torn from a calendar, tossed
Against the autumn sky!”
Those dull, daily aches

Everywhere, always. Anyway,
Enough of these shapes.
She saw, instead, bicycles,
Elephants, and birthday cakes.

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