top of page

Día de los Muertos #1

father’s day poem

you bought me a new kite

every spring and we would

go find a vacant lot or empty

field where you taught me

the intricacies of flying

how to subdue the weaving

from side to side and not

let out the string too fast

or how one hard tug makes

it jump up where it will

catch a current of wind

lifting it high and far

we stood there side

by side not saying much

but sharing a sacred moment

when knowledge is passed

on between father and son

as our kite pulled on

its string trying to

join the white billows


published in Guernica, revisited. Press 53, 2014

3 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page