Between Seasons
When she wakes,
the air crisps
like cellophane.
And I wrap her arms
in wool, in my arms,
in lavender-smelling blankets.
Her hands have already
doubled in size – and she
reaches for my face,
my cheeks, and dips her
forehead to mine.
By midday, summer heat
has returned, and we un-layer
like shedding snakes,
sit in the sun.
She watches leaves –
hears wind capture branches
like fingers waving.
At night, Autumn sings
through our windows
lulling, swinging.
She never wakes from
the sound of thunder.