1. Kites
Here lies little Sarah, cold
beneath the earth, teased
by the warm wind of spring.
To her right I notice graves
stained with flowers that have since blown away;
while to her left, the rusty iron fence rattles
as the wind wrestles the gate. She used to love
Flying kites.
I see her waiting for that perfect moment
when the breeze can buoy the bird high in the air,
the wind unraveling the spool of string
in her soft, small hands. O how

2. That kite soared
darting dashing flipping spinning
bouncing upon clouds
bringing down rain
battling natives
in a race for dominion in the sky.
Then sadly, the wind would fade,
gently nursing the kite back to the earth,
back to the warm place of its birth.
Kites can’t fly forever,
I whisper, turning toward the gate, leaving nothing
by her grave to blow away in the wind.