Читать книгу Out of the Ordinary - Kenneth Steven - Страница 15

On big blue days you took me there

to the crown of the hill, the strong sun

slanting my eyes with its soreness,

the wind tugging like a puppy at the car

rocking us on the last grass plateau.

And the kite rippled up into the air,

gusting beyond the ends of my arms;

you holding me down, until suddenly

I wished I could lose my footing and fall

upwards into the white-blue spiralling of the sky

and fly. But you held me; the weight of your hand

kept my shoulders down and sure and safe.

And that was what you were, always,

when I wanted to fight and fly and run –

the hand that held me steady,

that kept me from being blown away,

that made me wait till the storm was over.

I’ve been through all the boxes in the attic,

but the kite is gone, isn’t there –

like you, it’s blown away.