By Jane McGuffin
Photography by Sara Caruso
There was a woman made kites
of all her loves;
they were orange and red and green,
and little baby kites for all her
children, all
dancing in the sky,
over the sand and the rolling waves.
My kite flew
out over the dunes
swishing its long tail in the wind,
flashing its colors,
vermilion and green and
aquamarine, a long paper snake,
eyes looking out
at us, and the neighbors
on rows of porches
all smiling
at the ladder
from earth to air.
The string breaks.
Like driving through the night
on an unfamiliar road
with a cup of coffee
and a good radio
it can be done.
Without the string,
the kite can still fly.
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