The Sweet Blue Child

The sweet blue child

fears nothing more than time.

Pink rimmed eyes

and thick chapped lips

and a loose arm drags behind

as her red mother leads the way.

All here and in the maze of space

simultaneously.

Lacking the strength to collapse

into the fetal position,

or into my cashmere arms,

she stumbles from foot to foot.

A wet glaze of tears;

fresh and freezing to the cheek.

The crimson mother, a distracted

and thick women,

swims through the crowd

Each breast a sagged cushion

and the stomach, a low dipped pool.

The sweet blue child

knows how blood works, and

knows how blood changes

when exposed

My indigo baby

Won’t dare breathe

or let time do it’s ticking

on her body