(7/30)

“Cloud” from Loose Woman by Sandra Cisneros (an excerpt)

Before you became a cloud, you were an ocean, rolled and murmuring like a mouth. You were the shadow of a cloud crossing over a field of tulips. You were the tears of a man who cried into a plaid handkerchief. You were a sky without a hat. Your heart puffed and flowered like sheets drying on a line.

And when you were a tree, you listened to trees and the tree things trees told you. You were the wind in the wheels of a red bicycle.