Balloons call To me.
Whenever a balloon
sails cross the sky
it calls to me a story
I once heard,
about a red balloon,
and a young boy,
whose mother treated him
to one each week,
and how like red ballons
he sailed away,
but I will hush
and let his story speak:
The lead balloons.
His mama used to
buy him red balloons
when he was a wee lad
and watch his eyes sail upward
with that helium orb
in a vertical flight
as a smile stretched
in horizontal delight
across his face
he'd dance as it bobbed
and he'd bob as it danced
on the end of a string
in the warm April breeze
and he shout in a tiny voice
"I Love you....Mom!"
as they both tiny stepped
up the avenue to home.
~~~~~~~~~~~
His mama bought a red balloon
the day he left and launched it
in honor of her grown up son
in a vertical salute as he
flew somewhere far above
on a horizontal path
across the earth's orb
a tight smile crossed his lips
as he landed and embarked
on a mission for his homeland
that red balloon exploded
the very next day
two hundred and twenty miles
from where she let it go
and in the warm desert breeze
not too many weeks later
a piece of lead ballooned
inside the chest of her dear boy
his eyes ascended upward as
a splash of red imploded
then he danced and bobbed
as if on a string himself
and the men around him
heard him cry out in a tiny voice
"I love you, Mom." as he
tiny stepped a few feet and
fell down into a venue of death
that would bring her only child home
~
in Arlington
upon the date
that fate stole
her sweet son
among the many crosses
that stretch across
an endless field
the white is almost pure
but for a tiny spot of red
that sails above one cross
and highlights
the intensity of a
precious Mothers love