Dusk at at the Citadel, the ancient fort, the two kites are the holdout to the day's kite runners. I sit at the hot cobble stones. I watch that boundless sky attempting impossibly to make out the thin string that holds them to the ground and the young boys whose mothers I'm sure were calling them for dinner.
It's as if one says to the other one day one of us will be lost to the other. It had always been you (lost) to me but this time it's different. Grace says it best.
One day
one of us
will be lost
to the other
this has been
talked about but
lightly turning
away shyness this
business of con-
fronting the
preference for
survival
of course I
want you in the world
whether I’m in it or
not your spirit
I probably mean
there is always
something to say in
the end speaking
without breath one
of us will be lost
to the other
-Grace Paley
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