Roger Jones The 2River View, 5.3 (Spring 2001)

Kite Festival

Today a hundred kites flap, bob and dart
around in air—one shaped like two legs, feet
and black pantaloons; one in a round whirly
multi-colored hurricane; one a great soccer ball.
Box kites, animal kites, even people loitering
holding makeshift kites made of yarn,
sticks , old plastic shopping bags! Each year
the kite show comes to town, and dutifully
the gods reply by sending one splendid blue
cloudless day with a full zephyrous wind—
this time from the north (usually it's
from the Gulf, full of moisture and warmth),
and with just a remnant of lingering winter chill.
There are kite ballets; the kids ride the jiggle bus;
people gnaw roasted weiners on a stick
and big hot corn ears pulled full-shuck from
a roaring oven. Dancers dance, singers sing;
whole families out in fields of knee-high grass
clutch small kites. The kites ride full wide
streams of air, up great billowing surges and drafts,
and soar popping diving swimming like
the days. And for a short time, we feel our lives
go slack, as if we could dance them on a string,
hurl them up there, let them flutter all day
to color the perfect cold cloudless blue air.

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2River All is well.