It was finished the day it was started,
and we flew it on the football field near our house.
Spring.

We built it in the garage.
A diamond of wooden dowels
string, and newspaper.
I sat in amazement at your sudden display
of expertise in kite making.
That's how dads are,
full of secret professions.

It was quiet sitting on the sideline
watching our creation look so tiny
in the sky.

You danced to the song of fatherhood that day.
And I sat captivated in the audience.

Time passed and your song stopped.
The kite never flew again and
I forgot how to make another but,
I am still on that field
sitting cross-legged
with my chin
in my palms.

Watching.