A Story in so Many Words: Airborne

She grips the balloon, letting the string dig into small fingers that strain with the effort of holding on. Her brows are knitted with unwavering concentration. A sudden wind wrenches the string from her hands, stinging pale skin. She watches the last reminder of her father drift to the heavens.

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“Yellow Rose”

babyy

In the photograph I am 

No older than a year

Floral dress contrasting

Grandmother’s red dress

Clenched in a baby fist

Is a yellow rose

In full bloom, brushing 

A quivering chin. 

My eyes are black with wonder

Looking out past the lens

Past the rose

Past my father, who holds the camera

Lips parted in toothless awe,

I contemplate the blossoming

Of an unknown future