The Balloon

An orange balloon on a white string
escapes from a little girl’s hand;  

it rises in a swimming motion 
like a zigzagging, a ripple, a bright 

orange squiggle in a pale blue sky,
grows smaller as we bend

our necks back to watch it. The little girl
points at the balloon, her face stricken;

she cries and tugs at the folds
of her mother’s dress. A crowd of us

watches at the hotdog stand 
what is now just a speck 

of orange, as if it were
a flock of birds, a sudden rush

of wings, an arc in the sky, the loss
of something we know but can’t 

articulate. The balloon disappears
into an emptiness no longer

contained, into a traceless sky.
The mother gently gathers

her daughter in her arms, kisses
a now damp cheek, promises

a new balloon. The crowd 
disappears into the street. 

Published in Cold Mountain Review 41.1 (2013): 29. Print.