There were two balloons
and a vinyl kite wedged
in the branches of the lemon tree
and I ate a sandwich
with cheddar cheese
and watched a little girl
cry.
She was sweet, weak, sad,
she had a lemon scented sigh.
I imagined how and why
and when she would stop
to dry her eyes.
But those tears that flowed
will wash away the tears
that flowed down yesterday.
It eased the weight of thought
off my mind and rent
the lemons from their
rinds.
And each new lemon seed
grew another lemon tree,
and each new lemon tree
grew fresh new lemons innumerable.
And each balloon and vinyl kite
that floated in the breeze were caught
and held for ransom for little girls' tears.
And each little girl with years
and years and years will be a little woman
that has no time for kites,
between the money spent
replacing them for
crying little girls.