Last summer, my family was staying at the Washington coast. My brother and I walked down to the beach one morning, and he brought along his red sports kite. The bright colors, the wind, the quality time with the bro... I wanted to capture it all somehow.
So I wrote a poem and captured just a little bit:
"Can you help me with the kite?"
He asks. I nod.
He holds the spindles, unwinding the two lines.
I hold the kite, the wind presses it against me.
I face the ocean, he the town.
His figure makes a line perpendicular to the horizon.
He is focused on the task of his hands, oblivious to the great blue of the sea and the sky around him.
Sometimes the lines catch each other, and he has to pause and untangle.
"Sorry," he mutters over the sea roar. "Sorry."
As if I minded standing in the wind and sunshine, watching him and the sea.
When one line gets caught, the other unwinds faster and gets longer.
It dips toward the wet sand.
So I angle myself, bringing the lines together in height,
until Peter catches the spindle up,
bringing the lines together in length.
The lines unwind, and I move back, step by step by step,
Which moves us, father and father, away from each other.
But I feel us getting closer, united in our purpose.
The lines are unwound.
"Ready?" "Yes!" "One, two, three...”
I throw the red kite into the blue sky, and it jumps eagerly,
Joyfully,
Out of my hands, soaring on the two lines.
