thimbles

when i used to walk home
from school i would watch 
the big black birds stir
the sky-- 
chasing each other--
their hula hoop bodies
carving halos into the
clouds-- 
mixing the 
wind with a clamor of 
rustled leaves & 
beads of dew draped from
each blade of grass--
i stood beneath their spirals
caught in cyclone--
hoping to get sucked
back into the sky--
this is how you get assumed
back into heaven
like mary in the paintings
at church--

sometimes 
while on the way home
i would lay down for a moment
in the grass between 
the school on the hill top
& the big flat field of backyards 
leading to my house--
i would count the birds circling--
seven-- five--
sometimes one or two
or none-- just me & my own
spiral--
back then i was learning how
to sew 
& i kept thimbles
in my back pack & sometimes
laying there i would take out
a handful of thimbles
& cover all of my fingers--
i wished i could cover my whole
body with them--
crouch down as i watched
the needle hum through
the clouds-- in & out--
roll yourself into a bobbin
& push down
on the pedal to seal
up the hem of the horizon--

i want you to sewn buttons
where my elbows used to be--
let's keep bringing up
the hem of this skirt--
up up above my knees
like high school girls wear them
& all the while the birds
spiraled & spiraled
pulling out stitches with
their beaks & laughing about 
how easily my hours
of work came undone on
the walk home from school with
the sun scrambling 
into the clouds--
whisked by bird wing & 
my feet walking through
the dewy grass-- 

i put the thimbles
back one by one 
into the pockets of my backpacks 
& counted the birds again--
one & two & seven &
all the threads fell
from the clouds like feathers
& i wore grass stain knees
& dreamed of owning a body
that could fit entirely
into a thimble--