when I was four years old
she told me that clouds
were something you can
grab onto and keep

so on afternoons after the first goodbye
I’d go out to the yard, stretch
my little arms up into the gaping blue
to catch the cotton too far to reach

I never forgot
the disappointment on the plane
to -someplaceididntknowyet-
not being able to open the window

and when I first saw her again at the terminal
where families reunited, lovers ran to one another
my bitter silence arrival
met her soft chuckle at my frustration.

sometimes I see you sigh at nothing
or distance when you’re near
–and now when I look up at the sky
I keep my arms at my side

I now know: there are some things you long for
some things you can’t hold.