El Milano Amarillo
(The Yellow Kite)

Three purple kites fly over Taxco
and the Capilla de Guadalupe.
My yellow kite hangs limp at my
side. It is as yellow as a lemon
chiffon cake. Grandpa helps me
launch the kite, his brown hands
gently play out the rainbow
colored line. I grip the spool,
crying, “yo, yo!” and he lets go
of the line as my kite soars above
the Capilla, above the zocalo
and the matching white houses
with red roofs. It catches the light
and becomes a second sun.
As the wind kisses my cheeks with one
hand, it grabs my kite with the other
and sends it swooping into
a tree covered in delicate purple
blossoms. Grandpa and I work together
to carefully untwist the string from the
branches and blossoms…
yellow and blue, big and small.

Three purple kites fly high over
the grade-schoolers with dark
ash crosses on their foreheads.
Grandpa launches my kite and we
hold hands, hold on to the line,
the little yellow kite and Mexico.