Poem: Sky Eater: A Haibun

I drank the sky,
opened my mouth
wide,
my teeth flashing, cameralike,
in the sun.
I meant to stutter an excuse,
offer an apology,
sing the praises of someone
not me,
but something fuzzy and cool,
like gossamer
or lavender cotton candy,
spun inside.

Well, what was I to do?
Eyes wide and guilty,
I swallowed.

It was delicious,
I don’t mind saying:
Soft and spiky,
bitter and so sweet
my lips puckered
and my tongue perspired.
My empty tummy,
heretofore wrapped
like an undelivered present,
unfurled, stretched,
gurgled a message
to my fretful brain:
“More.”

I didn’t know what else to do,
so I kept my lips unsealed.
The heavens poured inside,
bulging my cheeks,
kissing my throat,
rounding my belly.
I’m pretty sure
a satellite, thundercloud,
perhaps a star or two
tumbled in.
They tasted hot and bright,
like metal against my teeth.

My face shifted upward,
eyes shining, mouth open
in a hungry song.
Words spun, colliding,
forming sentences and heat.
I’m confident I glowed.

So you see,
the fat orange sun
and its nursemaid clouds
live in me now,
rounding out my body,
filling me with thunder
and starlight.
I tell you only because you wondered
What happened to the sky.

Stars snagged in my teeth,
Clouds distended my belly
As I sipped the sky.

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