The Kite

Image courtesy of BBC Countryfile Magazine.

Just enough slack

to let me fly,

yet still have your hand

grasping the leash.

On these cloudless days,

you erect me in the sky

at the mercy of a dance

I so fiercely despise.

My cloth

ripples and undulates

by the command

of your fingers.

The sun casts light 

and illuminates the red 

of my growing rage.

But I’ve been watching the ocean swell,

and I can smell the impending rain.

I promise you…

When this hurricane comes,

I will billow and surge

with brazen force.

And your fingers will have nothing left

but a shredded tether. 

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This poem was formerly published in Fiction Week Literary Review, Bridge Ink literary magazine, and Down in the Dirt literary magazine.