I’m wearing my mother’s jeans. She bought them when she was younger than I am now–sometime in her college years. They fit me  perfectly, not skin-tight, but with just a little give.

They’re stonewashed and worn soft, the fabric the color of a sky viewed through the barest wisp of clouds.

Jeans made of sky…

Sounds like a remake of The Emperor’s New Clothes.

I know the shade because I like to sky glance. It’s like sky watching, only with less purpose. I simply look up for a moment when I’m outside.

There’s plenty to see:

Clouds like the beach, when the sand is rippled by the retreating waves.

Moon floating pale and round against the china blue cloudless sky.

Sunset stains the clouds in reds, oranges, yellows, and purples.

It seems cloudless skies tend to be oppressively hot.

It seems cloudless skies tend to be oppressively hot.

*   *   *   *

Sky Blue Genes

My mother’s sky blue jeans

fit me well

I wear my mother’s genes

as strongly as time

has worn that denim

The same frame

grey green eyes

slender hands

The copy isn’t perfect

I’m worn pale

and stretched an inch in the wash

I wear the jeans

because some things last

beyond fabric

stitches

and a few rivets

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About Caitlin Stern

I have a MA in English, and have so many fantasy/urban fantasy WIPs it's not even funny. I'm an avid reader of science fiction, fantasy, mystery, romance, biography, fiction, and anything else that catches my interest. I collect books, and bookmarks I find that are visually appealing and useful.

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