If you were a kid, you got a kite
And flew it along the Conodoguinet
In someone's back yard who didn't mind.
The wind took the line, yanking it away from you
Like a willful dog on a leash, til
All that was left
was the pink strand scar on your palm,
And a ripped blue diamond flashing in the sun.
If I dropped it and you did, you would watch a blowing
Handkerchief fall into the ocean and grab it for me.
It could wind up in the Adriatic someday, or between the dead teeth of
A pirate. But it doesn't matter.
Once you touched it you would hold your hand between the waves forever.
So many lines on your hand it would take.
Name That Trauma:: James Y. on a Curly-Haired, Murderous Mom - I just discovered your site when I was researching a sci-fi/horror flick I remembered being traumatized by when I was a kid (turned out to be Strange Invad...
2 hours ago