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
above
published in Guernica, revisited. Press 53, 2014
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