Aireater

Air Eater

You watch your baby sleep, the
Fluttering eyelash, rosebud mouth…
Then she is eight, newly toothed,
And I am thief, I am the watcher,
The keeper of the family bed.
Beside me she lies dormant
But for the pulse above her collarbone
And her breath even on the swells
Of a dreamer’s sea.
Hands open.

I know I’m already left.
I know the signs…
Her sloe eyes
Cutting to her brother.
I tell her she smells of sun,
Children do, and I breathe her hair,
Drink the golden broth of her.
She is a smooth-skinned plum
The exact shape of my heart.

Soon her hand will slip from mine
For the last innocent time
And her sweat will take on a new tone
Of minerals, and bread, yeast rising.
It is the smell of earth in spring.
Green things will grow behind her eyes.
Somewhere a flower will bloom.

As she turns, I’ll cry out at the
Pure curve of her cheek.
As she walks away on dancer’s legs,
Her back will sway, supple in the
Cradle of her new hips,
And her arms reach toward someone
I cannot see.