He could see it coming apart before it even hit the water,
the kite built of crepe paper and popsicle sticks.
She held the roll of twine. He held the damp hands of his daughter,
and he felt her skin burning, another thing he couldn’t fix.
The kite built of crepe paper and popsicle sticks
had leapt for a moment toward the gull-specked sky.
He felt her skin burning, another thing he couldn’t fix,
but his daughter didn’t notice. She let loose a cry
that leapt for a moment toward the gull-specked sky.
Her arms waved with the kite. Strangers smiled at her glee,
but his daughter didn’t notice. She let loose a cry
as fierce as the ocean’s. The wind’s energy
pulled her arms, and the kite. Strangers smiled at her glee,
but he knew before she did that something was wrong,
something fierce as the ocean. The wind’s energy,
her small hands, thin paper. The air was too strong.
He knew before she did that something was wrong.
She tugged at the string as if landing a fish:
her small hands, wet paper, her arms fierce and strong.
“I caught a star, daddy!” she screamed. “Make a wish!”
She tugged at the string as if landing a fish.
She held the roll of twine. He held the damp hands of his daughter.
“I caught a star, daddy!” she screamed. “Make a wish!”
He could see it coming apart before it even hit the water.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This poem was selected from entries submitted to our Creative Challenge Series #6: Last Sentences, which required that the last sentence in the text must be used as given.
