It’s not your birthday
or the day you left this earth
but somehow the way the sky
is holding back the sun
it makes me think of you.

A fisherman’s net of clouds
a fisherman’s net of tears
heavy and weary, they burst,
rain bruising the floating flowers
that decorate this darkened lake
like the flowers you used to make
from sugar paste for wedding cakes
cascading down the side.

I see you in your dining room
rolling out the crystal colors
sunlight through lace curtains
turns sugar into diamonds
makes a halo of your golden hair.

Cherubs see from pink walls
all those colors at your fingertips
the world at your fingertips.

Quick and clever hands
our grandmother’s hands
clutching and grasping
just trying to climb
out from the tethering net
out from the deep cold water.

Hands can reach and
flowers can float
for a while.

So lovely and wild
the flowers did float
for a while
perfect for you
earth child.