Poetry

1

Archetypal

Let out the string to fly a kite
Which first escaped when I was eight
And, squinting, lose it in the light.

Those Kansas winds would fairly cry
(Though you'd lie and call it fate)
Let out the string to fly a kite.

Thought you'd come and hold on tight;
You left me with that sky I hate
And, squinting, standing in the light.

I was too young to win a fight
Against a wind that begged for mate,
Let out the string to fly a kite.

With eyes made hard from bitter sight,
I sought my childhood in the day
And, squinting, lost it in the light.

I can't forgive what you thought right,
To pawn me off and then to say,
Let out the string to fly a kite
And, squinting, lose it in the light.