On New Year’s Eve you tell me
There’s no hope
But I come anyway
Bringing a package of balloons.
You stand at the sink stirring
A bowl of guacamole dip.
I tell you things will be better,
Blowing so hard into a balloon
I see stars.
One by one red and yellow suns
Sprout in the dark kitchen.
We hang them
All around the house.
Months later when I return
They are still there,
Still holding
My breath.
–Susan Schefflein
Draft © 2005 S. Schefflein All Rights Reserved
1 comment:
I think it is also difficult to realize what effect some little thing we do can have on another person.
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