This poem is taken from Stand 243, 22(3) September - November 2024.
The Kite
Sitting in the sand at the foot of the dune on the edge of the splashing
Surf. Misha snapped the kite’s sticks and shaped cloth pieces together,
each joint numbered by his father’s hand.
Then running through the kelp and surf, laughing with delight, he
tugged on the line, wresting its worm-like tail from hungry gulls,
...
Surf. Misha snapped the kite’s sticks and shaped cloth pieces together,
each joint numbered by his father’s hand.
Then running through the kelp and surf, laughing with delight, he
tugged on the line, wresting its worm-like tail from hungry gulls,
...
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