Kites

*written for my beautiful Seattle community & all those affected by the recent SPU tragedy. Also written for the metaphorical cities we live in, the ones where we've experienced loss and forgotten how to be children.

~

Our city sleeps,

but I awake to the remembering

of a rhythm

my feet still know.

They lead me, stumbling out

into the grey light.

The cars and rooftops sleep

in a dusty glow.

It is easy now, sinking back

into my child feet, these feet

that skipped around broken glass

bottles like they were a sprinkling

of treasure, the music of pirates.

I follow my child feet back

through the alleys lit

with flower baskets,

to the corner where we sucked chocolate

off our fingers in the sizzling heat,

to the hill where our kites rose

before their tails snagged

on tree branches.

Those kite tails,

where we tied our prayers and poems,

watching them flutter like wind chimes,

a sailboat parade

rising into the bluest sea.

But our city has forgotten

the nonsense of kites.

And my shadow feet remember now

the roar of new flags in our streets,

like the growling of pirates,

who never sprinkle treasure

or believe in nonsensical things.

But their flags stoop over now

like old men,

their promises but a chasing

of wind.

It is best now, to sleep.

So I sit below the hill,

sifting dirt between my hands.

Your footsteps come so softly,

I don’t turn until you bend beside me.

You sift the dirt in slow rhythm.

I sneak glances at you.

You still look as young as you used to,

sucking chocolate off your fingers

and tying kite strings.

And then you bend to smooth the soil.

Slowly, firmly, together,

we plant one tiny mustard seed.