leaf

She is not here on the braided rug,
warm and thick, scrunched and small the sky
goes purple and swollen the air is quiet,
swells, explodes, the tree limbs turn
upside down light green white leaves flash
and roll with it all she
with it all her arms turn up to meet
the sky the hot air like from a mouth arms
a slash of white against purple she wants
to be inhaled like an accidental bug she wants
to know why they watch and worry why
they think her important enough to hide, big
enough to be noticed,
choked on, she turns her edges to
the sky and waits to catch fire.