The Yellow Kite
written by: Jude Neale
Have you ever watched
a yellow kite dip and twirl
before a blazing blue sky?
Fleeting memories of
Biarritz,
an open scorched field.
You, at three,
pumping your legs,
as you rode
the wind.
My son your being
was held aloft too,
And I, eight months
pregnant, wishing
this kite could be a
beacon for new
beginnings.
The one tattooed to my
heart, and the other
becoming a fingerprint,
A shamal of hot wind and
the absorption of a small
boy. I don’t remember if he
let go and let it slip
through his fingers or if it
propelled
my son to greatness.
This chance to see the
ordinairy— the baguette,
the cheese, the bottle
of Spanish red wine laid
on the Mexican blanket.
The tow-headed child
waving and shouting.
Freezing this moment like
Gretel’s bread, always
leading us back
to the beginning.
Like a bag of marbles
spilling into the saffron
dust.
Who knows
where we’ll land?
The kite. Me.
Our joy, remained
fastened, to our
memories, floating
in a blinding halo of sun.
We are the child’s
bus-yellow kite.
And the collector of a
frisson of dreams.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
I bought a yellow kite for my grandson which made me think of my own son which brought back memories of him running pell mell through a dusty scorched field above Biarritz. Freedom is what I wanted each child to feel.
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