Buried Poem Triptych 2

III. Vicarious Escapee

The kite string snapped
and for a few moments
it flew free—the boy
allowed his heart to jump
for just that handful
of seconds, to see that piece
of himself soaring—
escaping. But when it soon
lost its updraft, slipped
and flickered out of sight
somewhere beyond the wall
he returned to the rubble
of his playground, his home.

II. How Long To Fly

I will always have the kite, held by a string of memory
to a boy I thought I had snapped the rotten off of.
And the kite, I thought I had cut it loose –
for a second it seemed like it could fly on its own,
a second became a few moments,
and I turned from it, I flew free –
I let the boy go, I allowed myself
to become weightless.

Then his heart crashed into me;
the kite had missed its chance to jump
for the limitless sky, had come back to earth
laden with Boy, just taking me with it.
A handful of gravity, a taste of seconds.
And then to see the ground again, to feel that piece
of Boy lodge himself into my organs of flight
when I could have been soaring…

I fear that my grasp on the kite
will always be “escaping.”
I try to resist but when I tell the kite “escaped,”
it only whispers, “soon.”
Never “now.” Never “yes.”
The boy is lost, except for what is left of him in me.
The kite will never find its updraft.
The string holding it will never have fully slipped.
And, worst, I fear my desire to cut it has flickered,
as the sky retreats away out of sight.

Somewhere else must be beyond the wall
between flight and gravity. The boy must know.
He has returned to a place I can’t follow.
Never enough to hold him, the kite
and I mired in the rubble.
It was ever his playground, his cosmology.
But the tug of a kite worrying the splinter in my back,
that feels like home. I tell myself it’s enough.
What else can I do? Tell me, what.

III.           To Fly

the kite,

the kite,            I      cut it loose –
it                 it

it    flew free –
I                     I
become weightless.

the kite      missed
the limitless sky, had come back to earth
me with it.
A                     gravity            of seconds.

my organ of flight

the kite
“escaping.”
I             resist                      the kite “escaped,”

The boy is lost,
The kite
will         have fully slipped

the sky

Somewhere else
between flight and gravity
a place I can’t follow.
the kite
and I mired in the        .
cosmology
of a kite
that feels like home.   tell m  e
What     can I do     Tell me

 

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Note from the writers: In our Buried Poem Triptych collaboration, the first poet writes a very short poem-section, from that the other poet writes a ‘buried poem’ section (think the opposite of an erasure, the original words are kept in order with many more added in so ostensibly an erasure might be made of the second section to reveal the original poem), and then the first poet makes a ‘white out’ erasure section of the second, expanded section.