Her eyes are clear.
“Billy, look at that - it’s flying!”
We crane our necks so we can watch the
rainbow dot swoop and dip through the cobalt sky.
Mom sits up straighter and more alert in her wheelchair.
She is clutching the string with her swollen-knuckled fist.
“Oh Billy, look how high it is! It’s really flying!”
Her voice is steady. Strong. Excited. Joyful.
There is no hint of her 80 plus years.
Warm winds swirl the gray hair
in and out of her face.
She giggles like
I don’t have the heart
I’m not Billy.
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