We were running together on that familiar field
of always perfectly kept green grass, flying a kite
he had made for me, showing me how
to cut and glue the frame, cover it with newspaper,
and tie together the tail from small strips of torn fabric,
a dishtowel my mother might never miss.
I was too young to run and launch it myself,
so he did it for me, me stumbling along with him,
trying to keep up, the two of us laughing, so free,
at Pauoa Park, down in the valley from our house.
The wind was strong that day, and when he handed over
the roll of string, he warned me to stay clear of the monkeypods,
and especially the power lines:
Your mom would never forgive me if I got you electrocuted.
* * * * *
Today’s word is “together.” Use it in some kind of writing, short or long, and then post it and link to me, or just leave it in the comments below. I’d love to read what you wrote : )