Cityscapes

2. The Funeral

People really love to fly kites. A really lovely kite has risen above two or three trees. I feel like if I follow the kite’s yellow string, I may find the location of my father’s funeral.

I follow the kite’s yellow string. The string goes into the window of a small house. I feel like small houses are mysterious. I feel like if I follow the yellow string into the mysterious house, I will find my father holding the string, waiting to hand it to me.

The kite’s string is laid out on the street. In a way, as I follow, I wish it had been prepared with many objects attached to it, things that belonged to my father. Hats, a mustache, shoes, underwear, toothbrushes, a hammer, cans of soup, a soccer ball. I get tangled up in the string, look around to see if anybody notices, feel embarrassed anyway.

Three nine-­‐year-­‐old girls run through a sprinkler, their fresh wet hair makes trickles. I bought some candy on my way to the party store. I check my pocket for the candy, but my paper suit doesn’t have a pocket. I swing at a ball and then run to first base. One of the girls does her stretches.

Another finds shelter under the twigs of a tree. Near a wall, the third one laughs. I feel like everyone who is at my father’s funeral is bouncing tennis balls dipped in red,

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