When Box Kites Darken The Sky
By cdcooper
When Box Kites Darken The SkyBy Christopher CooperWe started the morning like all the other autumn morningsFighting the wind and kicking the leaves with each playful step.When we got to the play field I watched himWith an eagle's stare as he unraveled the paper bail.It was an odd looking thingHe called a Box Kite.It wasn't like the other kites.Fashioned from a collection of trianglesAssembled like a patch work quiltWith long colored tailsMade from kitchen rags that you stole from your mother.A boring box kite was more like a box with the middle cut out.I asked him, 'Why don't we fly normal kites, dad?'He gave me the most uplifting answer,'Any fool can do that.You're much better.'With our kite high in the skyAnd the discussionOf the need for more string overWe settled back to watch our creationAs it floated on the darkened storm clouds.Then my dad reached into his musetteHanding me my sandwich saying, 'Here's turkey, mine is egg salad. ''They're peanut butter dad.' I said with as much anger as a five-year old could muster.'Son, you can have anything and be anything you likeAs long as you can close your eyes and dream.'Then I asked him my troubling question, 'Why don't you sleep with mom?'He replied in a short burst, 'Eat your turkey sandwich.'Years later my mother told meMy father liked the women You had to pay to be with.Now that my father has retired To the endless sleep that awaits us allI still can't imagine The man my mother marriedWas the same man I called father. Written August 22nd, 2001 © on Aug 22 2001 09:17 AM PST 0 • 10
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"When Box Kites Darken The SkyBy Christopher CooperWe started the morning like all the other autumn morningsFighting the wind and kicking the leaves with each playful step.When we got to the play field I watched himWith an eagle's stare as he unraveled the paper bail.It was an odd looking thingHe called a Box Kite.It wasn't like the other kites.Fashioned from a collection of trianglesAssembled like a patch work quiltWith long colored tailsMade from kitchen rags that you stole from your mother.A boring box kite was more like a box with the middle cut out.I asked him, 'Why don't we fly normal kites, dad?'He gave me the most uplifting answer,'Any fool can do that.You're much better.'With our kite high in the skyAnd the discussionOf the need for more string overWe settled back to watch our creationAs it floated on the darkened storm clouds.Then my dad reached into his musetteHanding me my sandwich saying, 'Here's turkey, mine is egg salad. ''They're peanut butter dad.' I said with as much anger as a five-year old could muster.'Son, you can have anything and be anything you likeAs long as you can close your eyes and dream.'Then I asked him my troubling question, 'Why don't you sleep with mom?'He replied in a short burst, 'Eat your turkey sandwich.'Years later my mother told meMy father liked the women You had to pay to be with.Now that my father has retired To the endless sleep that awaits us allI still can't imagine The man my mother marriedWas the same man I called father...."