There are more forms of art in the world than most people can list. Cooking may be an art in the right hands, or riding a horse or setting a table. Or flying a kite.
Kid Again.
From the still air near the beach,
it seems a miracle
that above us there are currents
strong enough to sail a kite.
The long-handled spool spins
between your loose-curled palms,
yet the kite curls lower
until you remember how
to reel it in a bit
and run, and let it go.
As you in the heat,
under Leon Redbone hat,
learn the tricks again
you haven’t needed since you were a kid,
you recognize, through some
adult amnesia,
the tug of the string
against your hands––that tactile memory––
and steer the beautiful sperm-shaped kite
with the longest tail
higher.
Yours unique above the two blue others.
Yours lotus-patterned with a spiraled tail
of purple, orange and yellow.
All afternoon, the seagulls and the pigeons
curve between the obstacles
of string and tail
as you rock your hand
to teach this drifter
how to execute a figure eight,
until a cooler wind,
blowing your shirt-back dry,
calls your attention
to the sunset,
and you start to reel your new toy in.
Still fighting that compulsion
to let it go again
to the end of the string,
you dance the kite
on ever-shorter tether
as you take it for a walk
along the footpath
to the car,
remembering
by some association,
watermelon.
After Forgottenman read this poem, he told me a charming story about the last time he flew a kite. For the first time in history, when I said he should write a blog post on it, he actually did!! You can find it HERE.
The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem about another art form.
