The party had been over for a month
And the balloons remained.
Lifeless, lying on the floor;
Half filled,
And half as bright as they once were.
As she cut each, old balloon
Covered in dust and crumbs,
She felt her Mother’s breath leave each rubber covering
As she pricked the latex with an overused, dull scissor.
The air did not escape quickly,
As the original material was stretched out,
But long and labored was each balloon’s
Last exhale.