23:134

(Part of a draft for the Jack and Beanstalk poem I’m trying to write).

23:134

Living above the clouds

wasn’t romantic or exhilarating.

It was lonely,

so lonely.

Felicia gazed at her

carefully constructed room,

every item placed

for equal balance

so the floor made of condensation

didn’t shift

and plunge its cargo

from the sky.

All her life she’d been

conscious of a scale,

always aware of position,

weight and its consequences.

Her diet was monitored,

any major increase

meant a hurried need

of new clothes weaved

with helium.

The amount calculated

so she moved gracefully,

almost floating,

but never in danger

of jumping away into the sun

like she often longed to.