Kite

A summers day

Blonde curls cascading down small shoulders

rosy cheeks bent in a grin

milk-white teeth smiling up at me:

 

Daddy build me a kite.

A kite?

Whatever for?

To fly away. Like mommy.

 

Her mommy. My Angela.

 

A different face.

Pale as the moon,

hair the color of maple syrup on a winters day rippling from her forehead.

Rosy cheeks similar to my daughter's.

 

and that same smile that now haunts my daughter's face...

As she asks for a kite.

To fly away like mommy.