Jilly laughs (and I cry...)

I.
Jilly's laugh is
somewhere between
a hiccup and a sigh
teeth shimmering
little porcelain cups
like the ones
I used in
Victorian doll houses
when I was five
perfectly glazed
and rounded.

II.
Her
late arrival
was like a Picasso
painting
brightly colored
flecks of roses and
blues
all feet and limbs
flailing
simultaneously
in proportion to her
belly.

III.
Yesterday
she flew
over a crack in the
sidewalk.
We had been eating
wild strawberries,
her fingers were dyed
with them and
her blood.
It fell
to the sidewalk
in perfect, red rain
drops.

My breath stumbled
in its puddle.