Contrails
Contrails
Clara shows up on the porch
,
arms crossed. I heard the teapot whistle inside and know she wants us to go in
. My boy was lying on the grass with his fingers interlaced behind his head; the butterfly net recklessly discarded at his feet. We tried to catch butterflies, but gave up and started searching for shapes in the c louds .
“What are my boys doing,”
Clara asks
.
“Mommy, we awe wooking fo’ aminoes in da kie,” he replies . He looks like a fat person doing a sit up when he attemp ts to get to a sitting position
.
“We’ ll be in, in a minute,” I say. Jeffrey runs over to me, and I sit him on my lap.
We
look up at the sky again
,
and he points to a cloud
.
He says it looks like a stork. “I don’t know,
Jeffy; it looks more
