“Kite Weather” by Mather Schneider

Mather Schneider

KITE WEATHER

I drive Miss Carr to her kidney dialysis
in my taxi at 5 a.m.

She’s 43 and clutches
a ratty blanket.

At the clinic she lays back
on a gray vinyl bed-chair

with several other liver-lidded pilgrims
who look like they’ve been raped

three days a week for years and years.
The machine reaches in

to her with its deep breathy hum
and the cruel tubes slurp

out her blood and pump
it back in purple, sterile

and cold. 5 hours later
she is released

and I take her home.
At a red light and there is a city park

kitty-corner. A boy holds a string
leading to a yellow kite

a mile up in the blue sky.
Look at that, I say.

Miss Carr smiles and
lifts her head from her chest

like an anchor.
Her mouth is a taut line

which slackens for a moment,
a flash in the sun, and then the light

changes and we move on,
everything

getting smaller and
smaller

behind
us.

from Rattle #35, Summer 2011