Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-three
April 2017
 
Mammatus
Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad

Cirrus. Cirrostratus. Cirrocumulus.
I read about the altostratus clouds and their grayish
sheet draping the sky still promising a watery sun
to come through. The altocumulus clouds and their shaded
orbs aloft before a thunderstorm afternoon.
I read about nimbostratus clouds, clotted canvas intimately
varnished with ice droplets and premature snow.
The tubular roll cloud low above the coast bridging
gaseous ends of forever. Cumulus. Stratocumulus.
Piles of cauliflower heads. Mammatus. Cumulonimbus.
I know this is your favorite. When you push up
that oval screen, a cabin-scented blanket pulled up
across your chest, you watch plume inhaling plume,
fleece layers rupture shaped by white and light
and no outline. Curled. Curved. Coiled.
The thick breath of atmosphere, exhaling these tower
puffs moving calmly between each speeding
mile per hour. Full, heavy cotton bursting.
With all those days you spend away in air,
I wanted to know what keeps you company,
what water crystal pattern breeds a smile not over
your stoic lips, but within your humming heart. You know
I am made of rainbow blood and bone. When did I become
so jealous of a colorless wisp ready to melt before a single touch.

About Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad

Previous Poem | Next Poem