Sunday Afternoon

Sunday afternoon

At the end of its string
the kite rises, swoops and sails.
I pull at Jack’s sleeve and ask with my hands —
He shakes his head with a loud frown.

Ella cups her hands to her mouth
and yells into the wind,
“Garn! Give him a go!”

I take the string.
Jack points to the nearby trees and then up at the kite
I think
You don’t have to tell me to keep it away
I nod.

I feel the kite tug and shudder
I watch it dive
and flutter
and swim through air.

© 2013 Rebecca Newman