Cutting Diamonds from the Sky

The day is winding down, so I’m trying to write
this poem before I miss today.

My father and I went to fly a kite on the roof.
When other kites appeared from the field across
the road, he took the spool into his own hands
told me that some people covered the string with glass

He maneuvered near a small yellow kite
and rolled the spool from side to side
until that kite was decapitated
and the tissue diamond fluttered to the ground

My father had ruined another child’s toy
and at nine, I was beginning to feel older than him
But my father was victorious, high on knowing
after all these years, he hadn’t outgrown this.