Because the sky burned, I had to unhinge

from the window the mesh screen

to step out onto the roof where the world was

an orange freshly peeled. I held

to my nose my fingertips scented with spring.

Beside me fluttered the wings

of another promise I made you but didn’t keep.

I sat there for hours until my thighs

were raw, cut open by those rough shingles.

I didn’t know yet how to run,

to tether myself farther and farther afield.

This was before your other daughter

died and none of us wept, but long after

those old pumpjacks no longer

needled the horizon clean. The velvet mat stayed

unfolded, but I told you I prayed

anyway. The sky began to hunger for stars.

I counted each scorched one.