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Girl in the Sky

Girl in the Sky My mother is the ice field there in the distance, flat on her back, sheltering the frozen prairie. My daughter is an arc of lightning in a starless sky, limbs slicing the air. What will be left when a new season comes isn’t for me to know. I am the one on a plane, a strange voice telling me to put my mask on first. I am not land -locked, but has a body ever been free of the sky? In my yard, vultures fighting over the flesh of a field mouse, caught in the fence’s clasp, won’t fly to the brutal north that my mother watches over, waiting to disappear. Perhaps, they too fear the suck of a plane’s propellers. But my daughter is fire, not air. Not water. An element to be feared. I can drag these bones over burned-out fields, over seas, over raw edges of the trees, but I can’t survive fire — , survive without fire. She’s grown fierce