she has damned you for once chasing a toddler.
your family too she hoped would fall
full of crusts and someone’s metal –
for stealing bread from an easy flesh.
her fear of flying – is that where it was born?
and the safety of the ground scattered
like thin tears, crumbs, the adults laughing,
some broken blue egg.
your home is the sky they had said;
but you did not listen to your ancestors
and she did not listen to hers –
your down like clouds to pass.
they had promised freedom in cobalt, atmosphere, feathers.
so for splitting her skin, you are not forgiven;
the sky is stolen and the earth is running.
her pink boots, your small teeth.
Clara is a sometimes poet, mostly foreign student in the USA from New Zealand, living in New Orleans, Louisiana.