Yellow Fairy Cloud by Stina Trollbäck

The day the yellow fairy cloud was scraping the ground, I was a light bulb full of honey. I was dimly lit and sticky.

My feet were trudging through oatmeal.

The oatmeal was honey-drizzled and turning into quicksand.

Once I was honey-dipped up to my shoulders, my feet were grabbed and rooted to the ground by molasses super glue.

 

My fingertips are sculpted terracotta clay, and my palms are glazed suede. My lips are velvet coral, and my hair is mineral eyelashes.

 

I used to pretend that the sky was a bowl of milk and then when it rained, the milk would condense and the sky would disappear.

I thought that if the sky were to disappear, the ground would be forced up to the sky by explosive tectonic plates.  

I was scared of rain.

 

When the yellow fairy cloud was scraping the ground, it was raining, the sky was caving in, and I was submerged in honey oatmeal.

 

I used to stand on blue cantaloupe crates and feel the cells in my body change course to move parallel to the wind.

I saw a crate was in the middle of a wet cement slab, once. My feet were stuck before I could reach it.

You helped me that time.

 

When the yellow fairy cloud was scraping the ground and I was submerged in honey oatmeal cement, I could feel it seeping through my skin, freezing my cells, and filling my lungs.