She can remember all the things
she’s going to do
they line up in the rafters
barn swallows watching the sky for autumn
There is no
used to
could have
in the sky
just clouds nestling the flirty sun
Her notebook bursts
like crotched nests in spring
she sketches tomorrows
in coloured ink
while her sons tug her wrists
something is waiting behind a cloud
she can feel its warmth on her back
watching for the moment
She holds a robin’s egg
sky blue
blue is the colour of hope
she knows that
but her cheeks hold
memories
of glances in the market
comments on her cotton dress
a mutter follows her as she leaves
Her fingers pluck at the string
knotted around her thumb
it holds another future
her little boy looks up
wondering
